


Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On

by Hamliet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Redemption, The dragons are cats, Unplanned Pregnancy, ghost is also here, let dany be the mother of cats, season eight i don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18832996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamliet/pseuds/Hamliet
Summary: As Jon, Daenerys, Arya, Sansa, and Jaime try to outrun the sins of their fathers, they start to realize that, contrary to what they've been taught, their redemptions or destructions might be found in each other. Compressed retelling of GoT/ASOIAF in a modern AU; hopefully without the compression issues of the show and with a decent ending.





	1. Family, Duty, Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! We're just going to... pretend season 8 doesn't exist, amiright? Behold my attempt to write out my pain. 
> 
> But anyways. Here is a modern retelling. I'm admittedly mixing preferences from the show and the books. (For example, Arianne Martell will appear because I love her, but I'm putting Robb with Talisa instead of Jeyne because in a modern AU he should have a real love story, Missandei is her adult show character instead of her child book character, etc.)
> 
> Updates should be every two or three days, hopefully.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,  
As I foretold you, were all spirits and  
Are melted into air, into thin air:  
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,  
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,  
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,  
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve  
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,  
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff  
As dreams are made on, and our little life  
Is rounded with a sleep. 

~William Shakespeare, _The Tempest_

* * *

Of the two, he infinitely preferred the cold outside to the cold inside.

Jon drew in his breath. Air, damp with snow and bearing the scent of pine, filled his lungs. Ghost’s tail wagged, thumping against his calves, reminding him _I’m here, I’m here, I want you,  you’re not alone._

His fingers absently scratched the dog’s eats. Ghost whimpered. The rest of his family was inside their ski cottage, which Dad had rented for Christmas break. But even days before a holiday, Catelyn couldn’t keep her gaze from turning into sapphire daggers whenever she laid her eyes on him. She supposedly was known for having a soft heart, but whenever Jon was around it turned to stone.

He could hear Sansa and Arya bickering. Sansa would be graduating from high school in another six months, while Arya still had a year and a half left. She’d pleaded with him to come on this trip; Jon had the option of staying at college, where he was a junior. _“Well, if you don’t come, the only person I’ll have to hang out with is Sansa. And she won’t even want to ski.”_

He had laughed, told her she was getting too old for this kind of cajoling. And, truthfully, she was jesting—well, somewhat. She wasn’t exactly wrong either. Bran, fifteen, was trying to teach Rickon to learn to ski, and Arya would prefer to shush down black diamond trails. She’d vowed to take on the double black diamond by the end of the week, despite Catelyn forbidding her.

So he’d agreed. Robb and his wife, Talisa, had even gotten time off from work to come. They’d graduated last year and married a few months later, college sweethearts, perhaps too young, perhaps not.

He’d thought about asking Dad. _Should I come? Do you want me to come?_ But it wouldn’t be fair to put his father in such a position. He was an illegitimate son that Catelyn had graciously allowed Dad to raise.

Catelyn had grown even shorter with patience for Jon over the past year. He really couldn’t blame her, not after what had happened with Theon, but it still sucked.

His phone lit up. A text, from Sam. _How are the mountains?_

Followed shortly by: _do you have service up there?_

_Well, if you don’t I guess I’ll never hear back._

_Unless you’ve been killed by an avalanche. :(_

_Gilly says I’m being ridiculous._

In spite of the heaviness chafing at his ribs, Jon let out a barking laugh. White puffs frosted the air leaving his mouth. He typed back a text. _Things are the same. The mountains are beautiful. Ghost is happy._

_But are you?_ Sam replied.

“Jon! Where’d you run off to?”

Robb’s hand clamped down on Jon’s shoulder. Talisa smiled as she shut the door behind her. She shivered in the icy air.

“Ghost needed to go outside,” Jon explained. Ghost cocked his head as if to say, _liar_.

Robb snorted. His golden wedding band glinted on his hand when he took Talisa’s. Jon had been the best man. Catelyn had even smiled at him that day. “Well, Talisa and I heard there’s a party down at the lodge tonight. Wanna come?”

“Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“But it’d be fun for the night,” said Talisa. “We won’t stay super late anyways. Would you rather stay around here?”

He could find Arya and play a game of chess. Jon squinted up at the moonless sky, a black pond. He managed a small smile. “All right.”

Talisa flashed him a thumbs-up. Robb grinned.

Their boots crunched the snow as they headed down towards the lodge. There had always been three of them, growing up. Him, Robb, Theon. Now it was him, Robb, Talisa. They never had a chance to make it four. Jon wondered if the reason Dad had them all spend the holidays away from their home was because he didn’t want everyone to be thinking of the face they’d probably never see again without throwing a fist to break it.

The lodge glowed ahead, lit with fires. Jon’s fingers tingled, the subzero temperatures cutting away at bloodflow. At least tomorrow, when he went skiing, he’d have gloves.

Inside, orange flames leaped and twirled in smoky fireplaces, and the smell of beer tinged the air. Music pulsated through the floorboards, and even though people had presumably spent the whole day skiing, they were somehow still able to dance like that.

Talisa laughed, pulling Robb onto the dance floor with her.

Jon smiled. He hadn’t seen Robb so happy in a long time. Without Talisa, Jon wondered how he’d have gotten through the whole thing with Theon.

A crash echoed behind him. Jon whirled. A man lay on his ass, mouth open in shock. A girl with silver hair glared down at the man. “Touch me again, and I’ll push you into the fire next time.”

_Wow_ . Jon stifled a laugh. _Serves you right, asshole_. He would offer to help, but he had a feeling she was just fine on her own.

“You _bitch!”_ spat out the man.

“Hey,” Jon cut in.

“Ah,” said the girl, catching Jon’s eyes. Her face lit up in a teasing smile. “There’s my new boyfriend now.” She slung an arm around Jon’s shoulder.

“Yes,” said Jon. “My new—girlfriend.” His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he sauntered off with her. “You know him?”

The girl stopped in front of the fireplace, removing her arm. She smelled like lavender. “He’s a friend of my ex’s. He’s a bit of a dick. Just a bit.” She rolled her eyes, tugging off her gloves and warming her hands.

“No kidding,” Jon remarked. “Though you looked like you didn’t need my help.”

She shrugged. “It was appreciated anyways.” A smile crossed her face, lit with swaying peach light. “I guess you were good for rubbing salt in the wound, at any rate.”

Jon snorted. He glanced over his shoulder. The man had picked himself up, glowering at them. “Glad I’m good for something.”

Her eyes flickered. “You just get here?”

Jon nodded. “My family came here for the holidays.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” The girl adjusted her coat, unbuttoning it. “I’m here with my friends.”

“Not going home for the holidays?”

Her face stiffened. And then she focused on the dance floor. “You see that couple? The ones wearing black?”

A beautiful black woman danced with a man. Jon nodded.

“They’re my home.” The girl held up a stray small hair from her coat. The corner of her lips turned up. “And my cats, of course.”

Wow, she was dramatic. He couldn’t imagine being like that. His world was filled with locked doors covered in sheens of ice, measuring his breaths, never quite measuring up because of some sin of a mother he never knew, a sin that his existence burned into Catelyn every time she saw him.

Jon didn’t know what to say. “More of a dog person myself.” Shit, not that.

She nodded. “I have three.” She pulled out her phone, showing him pictures of three black beasts, her face glowing with pride as if they were her children.

Jon pulled out his and showed her a photo of Ghost. “He came up here with us. My family, I mean.”

“Yin yang pets,” she joked, tugging her hair, which was wrapped around her head in intricate braids. “Where is your family? I’ve shown you mine.”

_Are you flirting with me_? Jon didn’t know why his stomach dropped out from under him at that idea. A pinching feeling crawled through his limbs. “My brother’s there. And his wife. My other siblings are back at the condo. They’re all underage. They can’t drink. So they can’t come.”

She nodded.

“My family skis often,” Jon added.

“Are you good?”

“I’m not bad,” Jon said. “You?”

“It’s moderately terrifying,” she said, leaning back against the wall and tilting her chin up. “But I made it to an intermediate level yesterday. Stopping, however, is still the challenge.”

Jon snorted. She sounded like Sansa. The one time Sansa went skiing, she couldn’t figure out how to stop, and wound up taking down Joffrey Baratheon. “I can show you, if you want.” An offer. Why was his heart beating so fast?

She widened her eyes. And then she nodded. “Deal. Tomorrow.” She held out her hand like it was some kind of business deal.

A laugh burst from him. Finally, someone with the same odd sense of seriousness in stupid situations, the seriousness Ygritte had teased him for before they broke up. He shook her hand. “Deal.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

He’d never broken his word. Jon smirked. “Ten in the morning. By the red shed.”

She checked the time on her phone and nodded.

“I’m Jon Snow.”

“Jon Snow,” she repeated. “Daenerys.”

Surely he hadn’t heard that correctly. Jon cleared his throat. “Come again?”

“Daenerys,” she said. “Targaryen.”

The warmth drained from his face, and again, he felt cold even standing in front of the fire.

* * *

 

“His father’s Ned _Stark,_ Missandei!”

“I don’t know who that is,” her best friend replied, kicking off her boots and tossing them to the braided carpet.

Daenerys lowered herself onto the scratchy orange couch in the suite they were renting. She tucked her feet under her hips, staring at the glass of water she ought to drink. “He’s the one who—my father murdered his father and brother.”

The Mad King. The name of a famous serial killer, the kind late night TV shows did programs on, and late night comedians invoked in joke after joke without a second thought on how it was someone else’s reality. Before Viserys drank more and more and eventually drove himself into a telephone pole, he was always telling her about him, telling her it was all lies, their father had been framed, he was not what they said. And as the bottles started to pile up, so did the bruises on her and the bruises on Viserys from starting fights with anyone he heard invoking Aerys Targaryen’s name in association with “murderer.”

But he was. She’d looked at the evidence. She knew.

She didn’t want to hide her name, though. Her old friend Jorah would tell her to change it, hide who she was, pretend she wasn’t the daughter of a madman who believed himself a dragon and burned people alive for fun, a man who was only caught after her eldest brother Rhaegar fell too close to the tree and raped and murdered Lyanna Stark, and then one of her father’s employees killed him.

But she wanted his name. She wanted the name Viserys clung to, because he raised her.

She wanted to remind herself what she would never become. She wanted to see the look in people’s eyes when she spoke it aloud, nine syllables, _Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen._

She wanted to bleed apologies, and she wanted to burn shame into ash at the same time.

“Oh,” Missandei whispered, understanding dawning on her face. “So Lyanna would have been this—his aunt.”

Daenerys nodded.

“Did you run after he told you?” Missandei questioned, settling next to Dany. She plucked a throw pillow with an angel on it, snuggling it against her chest as she peered at Dany.

“He ran,” Daenerys said. “He said his sister was calling him.”

“Ah.” Missandei was quiet. The clock ticked and tocked. “So he was lying.”

“Probably.”

“But you don’t know that.”

Daenerys arched her eyebrows.

“I mean it,” Missandei insisted, grasping Daenerys’s hand. “You don’t.”

“He offered to meet me for skiing tomorrow, to teach me,” Daenerys said. She sighed. “And now he won’t come.”

That was how it always was. Except people who wanted to fuck her for fun, to see if she was as crazy as her father. She’d never given any of them the satisfaction, though. She’d loved Drogo. And Daario had loved her.

“You never know,” Missandei teased. “He might not be bound by his family’s past.”

An inescapable weight of loneliness pressed down on her, squeezing each of her organs. She winced.

“I agree with Missandei,” cut in a voice.

Daenerys peered up. A smile flitted across her face. “I’m not surprised.”

Grey Worm sat down behind his girlfriend, wrapping his arms around her. Missandei leaned back against him. “You should see if he is willing to meet you.”

“In the woods? On an isolated mountain? He likely thinks I’ll burn him then and there,” Daenerys joked. She missed her cats. She really should have brought them with her. At least Drogon. “He is just a guy I met.”

“And how many guys do you meet?” Missandei quipped.

“Plenty.”

“No,” said Missandei. “You know many names, but you only meet a few.”

Daenerys’s breath caught in her throat.

“When I first met Missandei,” said Grey Worm. “I felt fear again, for the first time in a long time.” He didn’t often talk about his past, but Dany knew he had been a child soldier before escaping and winning a scholarship Daenerys had set up with her family’s wealth. Though it was never advertised using her family name, she’d been able to meet a few of the recipients who came to her college. Missandei was one. Grey Worm, another. “Are you afraid?”

“He’s just a guy,” Daenerys said. “Why would I be afraid?”

“Not of him,” said Grey Worm, and Daenerys understood.

At the very least, she could go and if he was truly a man of his word, she could say words she had never said aloud before, words she hoped were woven in her every deed.

_I’m sorry._

* * *

 

“You seemed to have fun.” Talisa’s lilting voice filled the hallway. Arya glanced over at Sansa, asleep on the bottom bunk in the room they shared. “Who was that girl?”

“No one important,” Jon said quickly. Too quickly. Arya narrowed her eyes, slipping into the hallway.

Jon gasped. Talisa jumped. “Why are you still awake?” yelped Robb.

“I’m sixteen. I don’t need my beauty rest.” Unlike Sansa, who had gone to bed early complaining about spotty service in their room so that she couldn’t text that guy she was convinced was her boyfriend even though he was such a snot-nosed rat Arya couldn’t understand how Sansa would want to talk to him, nevermind kiss him. Her sister was smarter than that. Arya turned her eyes to Jon. “So who’s this girl?”

He rolled his eyes. “You realize I’m the big brother here, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe she does,” Robb remarked. Arya glowered at him.

“No one important,” Jon repeated.

Arya sighed. Ghost trotted ahead of Jon, stopping by his door and looking over his furry shoulder as if to ask, _aren’t you coming?_

Jon wished her a good night, as did Robb and Talisa. Arya echoed them.

Their door shut, encasing the hallway in darkness. The mountain chill seeped into her bones.

It was different than the past years when they’d come skiing. Theon wasn’t here. And in the past, they’d always gone with her father’s best friend, Robert Baratheon, and his wife and three children. The eldest was that stupid Joffrey, the one Sansa had had a crush on since she was six. Arya had teased her about it and gotten many a hair-pulling for it. Myrcella and Tommen were sweet but not interesting to Arya.

“He’s gone,” she’d overheard her father telling Mom a month ago. “Robert’s gone.”

A heart attack. And still, she never heard her father cry. Dad and Robert would probably be happy about Sansa and Joffrey, she supposed. She just wished Joffrey were less of an ass.

Robert had loved her aunt Lyanna, this Arya knew. When he’d died, he even had written in his will that he wanted to be buried next to her, his high school sweetheart. Not the wife he’d had, which Arya considered very strange and which hardly fit with the romance novel view of the world Sansa wanted.

Arya didn’t know what she wanted.

“Cersei didn’t respond,” Mom had said when Sansa asked why Joffrey wasn’t coming this year. Why she couldn’t just ask Joffrey, Arya didn’t know.

“Cersei hasn’t even put flowers on his grave,” Mom had remarked right before they left.

“There was no love lost between them,” Dad replied, and Arya wondered, again. Why did Robert and Cersei even marry, in that case? None of her classmates would think of marrying someone they didn’t love. Sansa surely wouldn’t. Mom and Dad loved each other, that Arya knew. Even though—even though Dad had failed her.

No, Arya couldn’t think of it as a failing. That failing produced Jon, her favorite sibling. If it was wrong to have favorites, Arya didn’t care.

If making a person hurt someone, was it wrong? She doubted she could even ask her father, ethics professor though he was.

In truth, she wondered if he even knew.

Arya opened the door to the condo, stepping outside in her robe and pajamas. The wood of the deck stung the soles of her feet, unbearably cold. She couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her.

At least, upstairs, inside the house, was her family.

Except Theon. Was he family though? Had he ever been more than a foster kid?

Where was he? Arya squinted up at the sky, but there was nothing to see.

She was supposed to be making plans for college, picking the schools to apply to. Sansa had already gotten into her top choices, none of which included the school Dad and Mom both taught at, Mom as an art professor and Dad as a professor of ethics. And yet Arya couldn’t even bring herself to study for her SATs. She’d much rather focus on soccer, on the slim potential of earning a soccer scholarship.

No, her goal wasn’t to earn a scholarship. Her goal was to score goals. Her goal was to win.

Arya kicked at a block of ice. The cold stabbed at her bare toe. She’d better go inside before she got frostbite.

A crunching sound echoed in the snow in front of her. Arya stiffened. Her hand fumbled for her iPhone, which she’d sarcastically named Needle to, well, needle Sansa who enjoyed _sewing_ of all things (as if she couldn’t be any more perfect!—blech) but it wasn’t there.

Her breath caught as she heard it again. Footsteps. She reached behind her for the doorknob. The wind stabbed at her face.

No, she didn’t want to run. She gritted her teeth, mustering her courage from the pit in her stomach. “Who’s there?”

No answer. Just, wind.

“I know you’re out there.”

Nothing.

“Hello?”

Crunch. Crunch. Crush. The person was moving away.

Maybe just a random drunk. Arya headed inside, shutting the door.

Even under the covers, it took her almost an hour to stop shivering.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 


	2. Winter is Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for all your comments/kudos/bookmarks! They're really super encouraging.
> 
> I'm sorry this is unedited (beware potential typos), but I hope you like it! 
> 
> Btw, POV characters for this story are Jon, Dany, Arya, Sansa, and Jaime.

“I’m sorry.”

 

He hadn’t been expecting her to show up, much less greet him with _that_. Jon blinked, squinting against the sun glittering against the snow. The forecast called for a storm later in the week, but for today, the sky shone crystal blue.

 

He’d even been wondering if he should go. But he had promised. And she had shown.

 

“For what my father did to your—aunt and to—your grandfather, and your uncle.” She lowered her chin. Her hair matched her white ski jacket. “He was an evil man, and on behalf of him, I apologize.”

 

She didn’t have to say that. And yet, she had. Jon lowered his head. “Thank you.”

 

“I promise I won’t beat you with my ski poles.”

 

Jon snorted. He watched her pull ski goggles over violet eyes. _You’re not like your father, are you_? Still, he had no plans of telling his own family about who he was skiing with. He could only imagine Catelyn’s fury. Not to mention that Daenerys might not want everyone knowing.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to come,” she said.

 

“I don’t break my word.” He smiled. “And I don’t think children are their parents.” He hoped, anyways. He hoped Catelyn would somehow, someday, some way, realize that he was not his mother, see some decency in him, think he was worth more than what his mother and father had done.

 

“You’d be among the few,” Daenerys remarked, tugging her pale braid from her scarf.

 

“Do people usually run when they hear your name?”

 

“Run or spam me like they’re fans.” Daenerys shuddered.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Jon said. “Not anymore.” She’d probably been talking about it her entire life. He wondered if she’d had the chance to apologize before to any of the victims’ families, and if apologizing to Catelyn would do any good. “This is a green beginners slope. Let’s see how you do.”

 

She grinned.

 

_You can have fun. You can still enjoy your life, can’t you?_

 

He didn’t even know himself. But here, he was reminded. The wind dragging through his hair, the feeling of the snow under his skis, surging at a superhuman speed, yet still in control, a reminder that he could find a way to surpass his limits.

 

Poor Daenerys fell at the end, when she couldn’t stop. He laughed and held out his hand to her, helping her up. “You all right?”

 

She nodded. Jon tried to demonstrate pizza wedging to her to help her figure out how to stop.

 

“How many siblings do you have?” she asked when they took the lift up to another green slope and Jon waved at Arya, shushing down a black diamond.

 

“Five. Kind of six. But five.”

 

She arched her eyebrows.

 

“Long story.”

 

She nodded.

 

“Didn’t you have a brother?”

 

“The one who—”

 

Cold seeped into his hands as they swung back and forth with the wind. “No, one who survived.”

 

“Ah. Viserys. He died when I was sixteen. Car accident.” Daenerys chewed her lip. She sounded detached.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“He wasn’t right. He was—I don’t know if he’d inherited my father’s condition, if he had any at all, or if it was just grief. But he wasn’t a very nice person even if atrocities weren’t part of his resume.” She studied the evergreen trees below them, the branches cloaked in white fluff.

 

Jon narrowed his eyes. “I suppose it depends on what you define as an ‘atrocity.’”

 

Her eyes widened. “I suppose.” And then her brows pinched. “And you?”

 

He hadn’t meant for that to happen. It was like a mirror shining, blinding him. He adjusted his goggles, pulling them over his eyes as they prepared to get off the lift. “I’ve had a good home.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said.

 

They skiied late into the afternoon. She was a political science major, just like him, and she was here with two friends who were sledding instead of skiing. They briefly spotted Robb and Talisa and waved. Jon’s face burned.

 

The sun began to bleed scarlet and crimson twilight’s flames licked at the snow before they decided to take one more run—down an intermediate slope. Jon let Daenerys go first, watching her carefully as she controlled her direction down the slope. He watched her so carefully that he didn’t notice he hit ice.

 

_Shit!_

 

That was all he had time to think before his face slammed into rock-hard snow. One ski twisted into the snow; the other—was he still—tumbling— _ow_ —why was it cold too—what was hot—

 

“Jon!”

 

He’d stopped. Dizziness settled. His vision was tinted red. And then—

 

Something slammed into his knees.

 

“Shit!”

 

Daenerys? Had he really landed below her?

 

Someone grabbed his face. She peered down at him, purple eyes lit in fear.

 

“I’m fine,” he croaked.

 

“You cut your forehead. You’re not fine.” She dabbed at his forehead with her jacket, but probably just smeared blood around. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

“Twenty,” he joked. She smacked his chest. “Ow! Two.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

It took almost an hour for them to stagger back to the lodge on their ski boots. His skis had snapped. Yikes. And then Daenerys insisted he see a doctor just in case he had a concussion. Apparently, he did not.

 

Still, Robb and Talisa, Dad and even Sansa, worried about him when he got back to the condo. He’d have a nice black eye. Catelyn even double checked him to make sure his pupils were an appropriate size. Ghost stuck by his side.

 

“Who were you skiing with?” asked Bran.

 

Talisa giggled. Sansa frowned.

 

“A friend,” Jon answered shortly, and Arya jumped in to change the conversation. He smirked at her. _Thanks_.

 

“Welcome,” she mouthed back. “Guess you won’t be joining me on the double black diamond tomorrow.”

 

“Arya, you are not!” hollered Catelyn as she boiled pasta. “Ned—”

 

Ned lifted his hands. “She’s your daughter.”

 

Catelyn rolled her eyes. Arya grinned. Rickon played with Ghost.

 

The next day, Dad advised him not to ski. “Better not risk it.”

 

Jon caught Catelyn’s eye. She did not look pleased to have Ned talking to him at all, and yet she echoed his sentiment. And added that she and Sansa were going snowshoeing. Leaving him alone, so at least he wouldn’t have to pollute the air she breathed in.

 

Jon hunched over. The sky was gray today, bloated and oozing snowflakes that would turn into a full blizzard by dusk, if the forecasts weren’t lying. Ghost snuggled up next to him.

 

A knock on the door. Jon rose.

 

_Daenerys?_

 

She pressed a hot mug into his hand. “Hot chocolate for the invalid?”

 

“You aren’t skiing?”

 

Daenerys shrugged. “I might. Grey Worm and Missandei are sledding again. It’s less fun when you’re by yourself.”

 

Jon nodded. That, he related to.

 

A woof. Ghost jumped up, trotting over to her. His tail wagged happily. Daenerys crouched, scratching his ears.

 

“Well, he approves of you,” Jon joked. The hot chocolate tasted sweet.

 

“I’m glad,” Daenerys replied. She bit her lip again. “I feel like you got injured because of me.”

 

 _So that’s why you came?_ “You don’t have to stay back out of obligation.”

 

She blinked. “Obligation.” A statement. Cold, unlike the fire that usually burned in her words, the fire that reminded him of Ygritte but not quite. “Is that why you think I came?”

 

She grasped his chin. Jon’s hand stiffened around the hot chocolate. He didn’t want to spill it on her.

 

She stood on tiptoe, her lips brushing his gently, pulling back, studying his eyes, brow wrinkled as if afraid of rejection.

 

_You’re not your father._

 

_You’re not dirty._

 

His father would be pissed, wouldn't he? And Catelyn…

 

She took a step back, and something he’d only felt with Ygritte before surged within him. Fire, lighting up his veins, burning free. His free hand cupped the back of her head. His lips pressed into hers, the lower one between hers. She opened her mouth. He shoved the hot chocolate mug down on an end table. She tasted like mint and rose tea.

 

Her back pressed against the wall, but she didn’t seem to be bothered. Her fingers roved through his hair. His lips pressed against her neck, where he could feel her pulse beating.

 

_If you are different, I want to believe I could be._

 

_This probably isn’t how to do it._

 

But neither of them were in a relationship. It wasn’t the same as what Dad had done. Besides, she was—she was—

 

_I don’t want to feel alone._

 

Her skin, warm, underneath him. Her hands linking with his, palm against palm, fingers between fingers. The small room he and Ghost had been sharing, dark with with only one window, quiet except for their panting.

 

_You don’t want to be alone either._

 

Her legs, wrapped around his waist. His chest pressed against hers, her eyes wide open and his too, searching each other’s, and knowing that it felt like finding something, even if they didn’t know quite what yet. It felt like ice chipping away, giving access; irresponsible, maybe, but for once, he couldn’t think of that because he _wanted_ , he wanted, he’d always wanted, and aside from Ygritte, no one had ever allowed him to want before, much less held his hand.

 

He’d never done this casually. Or with anyone but Ygritte. _This is casual, right?_

 

Was it? It had to be. It was moving as fast as fire on gunpowder. But when the shaking subsided and his head felt light and fresh, he just wanted to lie there, stay warm.

 

“I’m guessing I probably shouldn’t be here when your family gets back,” she remarked, twisting his curls around her finger. His head lay on her chest.

 

Probably not. But he didn’t want it to be the case. “Want me to visit your place?”

 

She snorted, pushing herself up, silver hair falling out of her braids. “Sure. You know, we have a hot tub attached to our suite.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

 

“Count me in.” He grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m telling you, someone was out there,” Arya insisted.

 

“You keep telling yourself that.” Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes as she took a bite of chili in the lodge dining hall. Snowshoeing had been wonderful, traipsing through what looked like a winter wonderland with her mother. Every frosted puff of air, every fluttering snowflake, looked as if it might be a fairy.

 

When she was younger, she used to make up stories. Little people living among the green leaves of bushes and between the cracks in tree bark. Now she knew no fairies existed, but it still brought a smile to her face.

 

“You weren’t even skiing this morning,” Bran said, tired. He’d taken Rickon to his lesson earlier, and Rickon was now asking Mom for hot chocolate.

 

“You weren’t?” Sansa frowned as she studied her sister. Arya never missed a chance to fly down the slopes.

 

“I was looking for whoever I saw,” Arya retorted.

 

“Did you find and photograph footprints, detective?” Sansa teased.

 

Arya scowled. Okay, okay. Sansa hadn’t meant for her to take it so seriously. It looked like Arya still hadn’t quite grown out of her storybook childhood even at sixteen. Though her stories were detective tales instead of romantic fantasies.

 

That was fine. After everything that happened with Theon, Sansa almost wished she could believe in fairy tales again. She remembered Dad and Mom shouting, Robb angry too, and how Theon never even picked up his phone.

 

His father had sent him to stay with them years ago, and he was more family than not. When he needed an internship for college, Dad got him one with one of his close friends, Stannis Baratheon.

 

And then Theon stole thousands from them. That Stannis didn’t press charges was a miracle, because he definitely had intended to, and Sansa still didn’t know why he hadn’t. But Theon wouldn’t so much as answer a single phone call from the Starks after that. Not even from Robb, and he had been asked to be a groomsman at Robb’s wedding. Instead, he didn’t come.

 

It was the only time Sansa had ever seen Robb cry, when Robb had to face what Theon had done.

 

“I’m going up the double black diamond this afternoon,” Arya retorted, changing the subject. She jabbed her spoon at Sansa. Rude. “What are you doing, sledding?”

 

Sansa tilted her head back. “No. I’ll go back and read.” And text Joffrey. “Bran?”

 

“I’ll go back too,” Bran said. “Like I said, I’m tired. I might see if I can get into the rock climbing later this afternoon.” The lodge had a rock climbing park too, as if there weren’t mountains like, right there.

 

“Your first sentence does not go with your second,” Sansa opined. The spice stung her tongue; the broth clung to her gums: a bit too greasy, but comforting.

 

Bran smirked.

 

“Maybe you’ll find your mysterious ice ghost on the slopes,” Sansa said to Arya as she finished her chili and grabbed her coat. “Just don’t die.”

 

Arya huffed as she stomped off in her thick ski boots.

 

Mom and Rickon went swimming at the heated pool. Sansa texted Joffrey. _How’s it going?_

 

He didn’t respond. Maybe he was busy. And it wasn’t like she needed him to text her. She wasn’t a clingy girlfriend. Not that Joffrey had ever called her his girlfriend, but he took her to school games, sat with her at lunch, liked to sling his arm around her. He’d kissed her once, too. Her first kiss, though she lied and said it wasn’t.

 

She wished he would text her first, though. Just once, so she could quiet the snippy doubts nipping at her confidence, the ones that sounded an awful lot like Arya’s voice.

 

Jon wasn’t home. Weird. Maybe he’d gone skiing anyways. Dad would be pissed. When she was younger, Sansa used to tattle on Jon to their mom, because it gave Mom an object to direct her anger besides at herself, and Sansa hated seeing her mother staring with an empty look chewing at her eyes.

 

And yet she suspected she knew how it felt, that burning sensation behind her eyes, a feeling of not being enough, and shouldn’t that feel empty instead of like her bones were filled with charred, craggy rocks and crunching, crumbling gravel?

 

_Am I just dust to you?_

 

Bran yelled that he was taking Ghost for a walk since Jon was still out. Sansa polished her nails. They were almost dry, a soft pink color, when she heard tires squeal.

 

And a thud.

 

Probably a raccoon. She swallowed.

 

And then the barking. _Arf, arf, owoo._ Cold shock fell onto her like needle-sharp snowflakes. She was on her feet, moving, or maybe the condo was moving around her? Her fingers fumbled with the door.

 

Ghost howled. A blast of ice hit her. She raced past the dog, her phone warm in her hands. Her heart pounded. She heard nothing else but the sound of her breaths, her pulse, her being alive.

 

Her throat ached, like she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear it. Her fingers dialed for an ambulance. People poured out of their condos, yelling.

 

Sound trickled back.

 

_“Must’ve been hit…”_

 

_“Didn’t see anything…”_

 

_“Just a kid…”_

 

“Bran! BRAN!” she shouted, clutching her brother’s coat. Red streamed hot over her knuckles. His legs—his legs—

 

The sight was enough to twist Sansa’s stomach. She turned away from her baby brother, vomiting onto the salted pavement. “ _Bran!”_

 

The ambulance arrived, red and blue slashing through the air. Dad, too, and Mom and Rickon. Dad yanked Rickon away so that he wouldn’t have to see. Mom jumped in the back of the ambulance. Talisa and Robb, Talisa sobbing. Arya, at last.

 

“Oh my God,” croaked Arya.

 

Sansa couldn’t even look at her. She looked down at her phone.

 

Nothing from Joffrey.

 

She texted him. _My brother’s been hit by a car._

 

“Using Bran for sympathy?” Arya snapped.

 

“Knock it off,” Robb cut in, glaring at them both. “Not what this family needs right now.” He cussed. “Answer your phone, Jon!”

 

Sansa’s feet carried her towards the lodge. “I’ll find him.”

 

“Thanks, San.” Robb used his childhood nickname for her, the one he hadn’t used in years. Dad was still comforting Rickon, who’d buried his face in Ghost. Arya wandered by the scene. Nothing. No tire tracks. Only broken ice.

 

Sansa pulled her scarf over her mouth. When she entered the lodge, she asked. She knew the description of her brother was fairly average, but that girl she’d seen him with the other day was hardly average. “It’s an emergency,” she said, crying. They understood. It was her, the girl whose brother had looked like a broken plastic skeleton.

 

Room 67. The lodge had smaller suites in addition to the spacious condos it rented out. Sansa jogged up the stairs and to the right room, pounding on the door.

 

“Can I help you?” asked a girl with dark curls.

 

“Is my brother here?”

 

“Jon Snow?” The woman stepped back. Sansa peered past her to see a porch out back, and on that porch, a jacuzzi, and in that jacuzzi, her brother, his arms wrapped around that girl with the hair like liquid sun, her lips on his. The other woman smirked.

 

 _What on earth?_ Jon was always so reserved. To see her brother like this… did she know him at all?

 

“Our brother’s dying,” Sansa snapped.

 

The woman’s mouth fell open. “I’m so sorry.” She rushed out. Jon’s eyes bugged out when he saw Sansa standing there.

 

“I—I’m—”

 

“Bran got hit by a car. He might not make it.” Tears welled up in Sansa’s eyes. Jon gaped.

 

“It’s okay,” said the girl to Jon. “ _Go_.”

 

Jon scrambled out after Sansa, hair damp. “What happened?”

 

“I don’t even know!” She had no idea who hit Bran, and why they’d taken off right away. How could anyone leave a boy lying there like that? In the cold? _Why didn’t you just know? Why did I have to chase you down?_

 

_Why didn’t I follow him outside?_

 

_Why…_

 

“Arya!” Jon shouted.

 

Sansa peered ahead. Her sister crouched on the pavement, frowning. “Did your ice ghost run Bran over?” she demanded. A lump swelled in her throat.

 

Arya glared. Between her fingers she clutched a red stone. “I found this.”

 

“Could be from _anyone_ ,” Sansa snapped. “Let the cops do their job.”

 

“I’m supposed to think it’s a coincidence someone was sneaking around and then Bran gets hit by a car?”

 

“There are bears. It’s icy. People drink.” Sansa wanted to shake Arya. _Why do you want to see ghosts everywhere? Why do you want to act like something’s out to get us? Isn’t it enough that the past year has_ sucked?

 

Theon was gone. Jon stood on the outskirts, Robb married, Robert buried, Bran was now fighting for his life, and Joffrey wouldn’t text her _back_.

 

Sansa’s hands tightened into fists. _I don’t want to lose anyone else._

 

But she was helpless.

 

No, she wasn’t. She needed to be by her mother’s, by her brother’s, sides, hear them breathing.

 

_You’ll be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany are moving really fast, but that'll be dealt with. 
> 
> Also, next chapter Theon (and Gendry) will actually appear, Arya will investigate in some sketchy ways, and Jaime and Brienne will start their arcs (as will the Lannisters).


	3. Ours Is The Fury

The room smelled too clean, the scent stinging Sansa’s nostrils. Carts squeaked on pristine tile floors outside, voices murmured trying to clean the air and emotions, and in this small dark room packed with tissues, voices ruined everything. 

 

“Will he ever walk again?” Mom had to ask. Her voice rasped. Sansa clutched the black, immovable plastic arm of the chair she sat in.

 

The doctor lowered his chin. “Outside of a medical miracle… no.”

 

Why did they have to include those first words? It was like dragging out the inevitable. Tears streamed down Sansa’s face. Arya gaped. Robb swore and turned into Talisa’s arms. Rickon rubbed his temples, and Jon whirled towards the door, like he wanted to run right to Bran and scoop him up in his arms, protect him.

 

Mom began to shake, hand over her mouth. Dad held her up, but his own face twisted, trying to comprehend the news.

 

What could she even do? 

 

Nothing. Sansa patted her mother’s arm. She wanted to cry loudly, like Rickon. But she stifled her sobs. 

 

Bran was always so active. He wasn’t broken. He had to be fine. He had to be. 

 

She remembered the twisted way his legs lay, and gorge rose. 

 

“At least he’s alive,” managed Dad. 

 

Sansa couldn’t even comprehend how they’d break the news to Bran. He was her little brother. She wanted to dry his tears and make sure he had no need to cry ever again. 

 

Their aunt Lysa called Mom, blubbering. Stannis Baratheon texted Dad to tell him he’d speak to his boss and ensure he could take as much time off of work as needed. Hell, maybe Shireen could talk to Bran. 

 

A police officer, Margaery Tyrell, interviewed Sansa about what she’d seen, which wasn’t anything at all, so she was useless there too. It was almost midnight when a familiar face walked into the waiting area. Sansa had been leaning her head against the wall. Arya slept against Jon’s shoulder, and when Robb had suggested they all go back for some rest, Rickon had shouted “No!” and that was that. 

 

“Joffrey!” Sansa scrambled to her feet. And his mother, Cersei Lannister, Myrcella, Tommen. And that uncle of Joffrey’s, Jaime, the one who’d been a model before he killed Aerys Targaryen in self-defense. Of course everyone whispered that it wasn’t self-defense, not  _ really _ , but Aerys Targaryen was a serial killer so no one cared. Justice was justice.

 

“My apologies,” said Cersei. “We came as soon as we heard.” She tipped her head down, red-gold hair spinning to her waist. A former model just like her twin, her smile was perfect even now.

 

“Thank you,” managed Mom. She and Cersei had never been close despite Dad being best friends with Robert. 

 

Sansa turned to Joffrey. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but he made no move towards her, so instead she clasped her hands. “Thank you for coming.”

 

Joffrey let out a snort. “When my girl’s brother is injured, of course I’d come.” 

 

Robb narrowed his eyes. Sansa smiled. It was fine. Joffrey was just awkward. 

 

“We had actually come up earlier today,” Cersei said. “To surprise you. Joffrey’s idea.”

 

_ Really?  _ Hope filled Sansa.

 

“It was your idea,” snapped Joffrey, face reddening. 

 

Cersei’s smile remained the exact same on her face. Not even a single twitch. 

 

“You were here earlier?” Arya inquired, straightening. Her hair stuck out awkwardly from her head. She needed to brush it. 

 

“We got here this morning,” piped up Tommen. He was a sweet kid.

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Robb, Talisa, and Jon went back to Mom and Dad’s house, taking Arya back home with them, though Sansa heard Jon worrying about not having the girl’s number. She wondered who the girl was. No matter. Just a fling, though Jon hardly seemed the type for flings. But his mother must have been. 

 

Cersei drove Sansa and Rickon back with her kids. Joffrey kept trying to impress her by reading off facts about paralysis from the internet. It was not impressive. But he was trying. 

 

Mom and Dad stayed with Bran for the next day. Sansa watched snow fall from her window after Joffrey left, a winter storm that she wanted no part of. There were things to do. Jon had to get ready to go back to college and his apartment with his friends, but first he helped Sansa move Bran’s bedroom to the study downstairs, and Dad’s study to the bedroom that had been Bran’s on the second floor. 

 

Robb, Theon, and Jon had always had rooms in the basement, and they were now completely empty, a ghost floor. Rickon and their parents were on the second floor, and Sansa and Arya shared a suite in the third floor, a former attic finished to look like the fanciest part of the house. 

 

She didn’t like things changing. 

 

Her guidance counselor, Brienne Tarth, had emailed her and Arya to say how sorry she was, and she would tell their teachers to cut them some slack if they needed time. Bran wouldn’t be coming back to school for awhile, though his concussion wasn’t serious. Rehab. Dad cancelled his teaching for the semester. 

 

Sansa pressed her head to the window the night before school was to start again. She wasn’t going to let Arya or Rickon skimp. Robb had offered to help, and Jon as well, but Sansa insisted she could handle her siblings on her own. The wind blustered, shouting at the heavens. She wanted to shout with it.

 

It wasn’t fair. 

 

Well, at least she’d be able to see Joffrey at school.

 

A figure darted through the snow to their front stoop. Sansa froze.

 

This couldn’t be happening. Arya couldn’t be  _ right _ .

 

_ Could that have been— _

 

_ No! _

 

Sansa grabbed her teal peacoat, hurrying down the stairs. The light under Rickon’s door was out. Good. Her youngest brother needed his sleep.

 

She didn’t turn any of the lights on, slipping along the wooden floors. Her hand landed on the golden doorknob. She flung it open. 

 

It slammed into a soft body. “Oof!” 

 

Her eyes bulged. She knew that voice. Sansa surged outside, grasping the figure by his shoulder and yanking him to his feet. “What are  _ you _ doing here?” 

 

“I came to see if Bran was okay!” 

 

“Okay? Of course he’s not okay!” Sansa struggled to keep her voice down. Rage fired up inside of her, hidden rage she didn’t know she had. She gasped, trying not to cry. “Why are you here? Why? It’s not like you care!”

 

Theon gulped, mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling to breathe air. “I do care—I—”

 

“Then why did you do that to my family? Dad trusted you!”  _ God, why are you hurting us all? Why?  _ If she couldn’t ask God, she could ask him. 

 

Theon shrunk. 

 

Sansa swept her gaze up and down his body. He wore torn, stained cargo pants. A heavy sweater draped his frame, bony and unlike the athletic body he and Robb used to spend hours working on. A ripped woolen hat was tugged down over his scraggly hair, and his ears stuck out from his head like they didn’t belong. 

 

He shook his head. No answer. 

 

“Were you hiding outside?” Sansa eked out. A thought wriggled into her mind. 

 

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “I’m here—”

 

“No, in the mountains! Someone was lurking outside our cabin.” According to Arya.  _ “Was it you?” _

 

His lips trembled. He nodded.

 

_ No!  _ She hit his chest. 

 

“I didn’t hit Bran!” he protested. “I swear it! I didn’t hurt Bran! I don’t even have a car!”

 

“You could’ve stolen one!”

 

He flinched as if her words stung. “I didn’t! I just came to—I wanted to—I don’t even know—” He clutched his hair, arms vibrating as if he wanted to tear his hair out of his skull but couldn’t quite work up the nerve. 

 

“And then you what, ran when he got hit?” Sansa shook him. “Why would I believe you? Why  _ should _ I believe you?”

 

His shoulders slumped. “You—wouldn’t.” 

 

Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t the Theon she knew. The Theon she knew was cocky to a fault, rude, arrogant, the life of the party, not a skulker in the shadows. 

 

“I just wanted to check on Bran,” Theon said miserably. “That’s all. And I wanted to—apologize.”

 

“They  _ called _ you. They gave you chance after chance.”

 

“I know.” He wrapped his arms around himself. 

 

_ What happened to you?  _ Sansa wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how to ask. His eyes, runny and red, met hers.  

 

_ You’re ashamed.  _

 

_ Good.  _ It gave her a sick sense of pleasure to think that, to hate someone who’d hurt her family even if it wasn’t the nameless, faceless figure she wanted to hate. And that sick pleasure made her feel dirty. 

 

She turned around, but he had already turned away from her. 

 

Sansa slammed the door behind her. When she got up the stairs, she peered out her window and saw Theon stumbling off. 

 

“What was that?” Arya.

 

Sansa pressed her lips together. “Your lurker in the woods was Theon. Probably wanting to rob us.” A lie. “Though he said he just wanted to apologize and now wanted to say hi to Bran or whatever.” 

 

“Theon?” Arya’s voice darkened.

 

“He didn’t do the Bran thing,” said Sansa. She believed him, at least on that. 

 

“I know.” Arya cleared her throat. Sansa turned. Her sister held up the small red stone.

 

_ That again?  _ Sansa bit back a scowl.

 

“Don’t you think it’s awfully strange the Lannister family all has ruby rings and just so happened to be in town, but not tell us?” 

 

_ Oh, so now you’re accusing Joffrey? Do you just want everyone to be as alone and miserable as you? _ The urge to stomp her foot pressed in on Sansa. “I’m not listening to your delusions.”  _ Do you have to try to tear us apart even more?  _

 

“You’re the one with your head in the sand.”

 

“What, because I’m not paranoid?” Sansa slammed her door in her sister’s face. She texted Joffrey about Theon. 

 

And he responded!  _ Next time he bothers you I’ll cut off his cock.  _

 

_ Ugh _ . Sansa rolled over, looking up at the dark ceiling.

 

Sleep didn’t pour into her until it was almost dawn.

 

* * *

 

“Arya!” 

 

She halted, backpack slung over her shoulder. Her soccer coach and guidance counselor, Brienne Tarth, hurried towards her. Everyone kept saying Brienne was ugly and probably a virgin because no guy would like her, but she’d been a professional soccer player, and to Arya, she was the biggest badass she’d ever been able to meet. 

 

“How’s your brother?” Brienne asked sympathetically. 

 

Arya shrugged. It felt strange to be back at school, kids milling through the hallways, but Bran wasn’t there. Arya had never had many friends, and yet the hallways felt emptier to her than normal, and the ruby in her pocket burned. “Dad’s coming back tonight. He says they’re moving him to a rehab facility soon.” 

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“He’s not dead,” Arya said again. 

 

Brienne nodded. “Are you interested in helping train a new soccer player?”

 

“Tryouts were in the fall.” And they didn’t have any more soccer games until spring. Arya frowned.

 

“Yes, but the boy just transferred here and he’s got an impressive record. If you think he’s an adequate fit for the team, we can take him on.”

 

_ You trust my opinion.  _ A smile tugged at Arya’s lips. She liked that Brienne didn’t treat her like she was cracking glass. She wanted to pretend things were normal, and she wanted to find out who disrupted their normal. 

 

And so Arya found herself out on the frozen soccer fields, bouncing a ball on thigh as she waited. A tall boy, hair dark and eyes azure like the sea, jogged towards her. “You the new guy?” He had to be a senior.

 

“Are you the… student coach?” He eyed her up and down, eyebrows rising. She might not even be five feet tall, but she’d show him. 

 

“That’s me,” she confirmed. “Arya. Stark.” 

 

“Gendry Waters.” 

 

She tossed the ball at him. “Where’d you move from?”

 

“King’s Landing.”

 

Ugh, the capital. Lame. Most people from there were rich snots. Like the Lannisters. “Why’d you move here?”

 

Gendry lifted his shoulders. Broad shoulders. “My mom’s lost her job.”

 

Oh. “What was that?”

 

“We worked in a jewelry shop.”

 

“Owned it?”

 

“No, worked in it.” He shook his head. “What is this, twenty questions?”

 

Arya cocked her head. “Then I’ve got sixteen more.” 

 

He snorted. 

 

She squinted, shielding her gaze from the white sun that spilled not a trace of warmth through the air. “Did you work there too?”

 

He nodded. “Making jewelry. Made myself a boar’s head charm once, because—”

 

“I don’t care,” Arya cut in. An idea had already popped into her mind. “So, would you be able to tell if a ruby was real or not?” 

 

“Uh, yeah? Why?” 

 

She kicked the ball at him. He jumped.

 

“Stay on your toes,” she ordered. “Try to score.” 

 

An hour or so later, sweat poured down her back, sticking her hair to her temples, and she’d forgotten the air was ice. Gendry had scored once, the sky deepened to mauve and tangerine, and in the distance, Arya spotted Petyr Baelish, their history teacher, sauntering towards his car.

 

She did not like him. He treated Brienne poorly and he was constantly flirting with Sansa, though Sansa mostly ignored him. 

 

Arya kicked the ball straight at him. He yelped.

 

“Sorry!” Arya called, shrugging. “Accident.”

 

“Liar,” Gendry said to her, but he kept his voice quiet enough so that Baelish wouldn’t hear her. 

 

She glared up at him.

 

He crossed his arms. “So am I good enough to make your squad?”

 

She picked up the soccer ball as it came rolling back to her. “What do you think?” 

 

“Well, I only scored against you once, so that’s not optimistic, but I get the feeling you’re not a typical player, so maybe you’ll have mercy on me.”

 

A smile broke over her face. She tossed the ball up in the air, catching it. “Yeah. I’ll recommend you to Brienne.” 

 

Gendry snorted in relief. He shook his head, trudging across the field towards the locker rooms with her. Even the normally chilly locker rooms pressed warmth around them. 

 

“You a junior?” Gendry asked.

 

“Yeah.” Arya shivered, cold squeezing out of her skin. 

 

“I’m a senior.”

 

“I figured.”

 

“Are you Sansa Stark’s sister? She’s in some of my classes.”

 

“Sorry for you.” Arya smirked. 

 

Gendry rolled his eyes. “She seemed all right.”

 

“She is,” Arya agreed. “Just—kind of perfect.” And Arya, with her drab dark hair and short stature, was not. 

 

Gendry almost smiled. The light flickered above them as they stood between the doorways to the girl’s and boy’s locker rooms. 

 

She dug into her pocket, holding up the ruby. “Is this real?”

 

His jaw fell open. “So you weren’t joking.” 

 

She shook her head. “Nope.”

 

“Where’d you get this?” He took it from her, squinting as he held it up to the light.

 

“I found it on the ground after a car hit my brother. I want to find out who paralyzed him.” She waited for him to laugh.

 

But Gendry didn’t laugh. “Heard about that. Sorry.” 

 

A lump grew in her throat. 

 

“Are you sure this is connected?”

 

She shook her head. “But the cops don’t have any leads, either.” Though she should just hand over the ruby to Margaery Tyrell. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to. 

 

“Do you trust me to take it home and have a look?” Gendry asked. “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

 

Huh. So he wasn’t telling her she was crazy. Arya hesitated. “Okay.” 

 

He smiled. 

 

Dad came back home that night, and Arya hugged him. At least she had one parent with her. She felt so lonely, like such a letdown. 

 

She texted Jon.  _ How’s your girlfriend? _

 

_ I didn’t get her number,  _ Jon responded.  _ So she’s not my girlfriend.  _

 

She could tell what he wasn’t saying:  _ you’re sad about it. _

 

Arya curled up on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, needle lying next to her on the mattress. She just wanted to feel safe again. First Robert Baratheon, dickish though he was, then Theon, and now Bran, and she felt like her family was scattering. And Joffrey—he treated Sansa like shit. She deserved so much better. 

 

_ “Theon wouldn’t do that!” _

 

He had, no matter how she insisted. And she’d heard Dad after Robert’s funeral:  _ I don’t trust that woman. _

 

Cersei Lannister. 

 

_ If you’re using her, Joffrey, if you hurt Bran, I’ll hurt you.  _

 

But all she had were whispers and suspicions, and a red gem. 

 

_ “Do you think Cersei killed Robert?” she’d asked. _

 

_ “Don’t ever start a rumor like that,” Mom snapped.   _

 

If Cersei had, and she knew about Dad suspecting her, and Bran… it was all way too complex. Arya’s head hurt. 

 

Gendry greeted her the next morning, producing the gem. Arya’s lips parted in a grin. So at least he was trustworthy.

 

“Real,” he confirmed, dropping it into her palms. “Oh hell, tell me you’re not going to do something crazy like murder whoever this belongs to and bake them into pies.”

 

“This isn’t  _ Titus Andronicus _ ,” Arya retorted. “I emailed Brienne and told her you’re good to play.” 

 

“Awesome.” Gendry gave her a thumbs-up. “Got math with your sister again today.”

 

Arya wrinkled her nose. The sound of lockers slamming clashed through the hallway.

 

Gendry rolled his eyes. “So, should I not talk to your sister, or—”

 

“You can do what you like,” Arya said. “She just might not talk to you. She’s got that boyfriend. Joffrey Baratheon. He’s our father’s best friend’s son.” 

 

“Joffrey?” Gendry’s brow creased. “He seems like such a twat. Couldn’t she do better?”

 

_ I like you.  _ Arya nodded. “You’d think.” 

 

“Does this mean your dad’s Ned Stark?” Gendry asked. “I’ve read some of his books on justice, and—”

 

“He is,” Arya confirmed. Her chest ached. “What’s your dad’s name?”

 

Gendry lifted his shoulders. “Don’t know. Never met the guy. Don’t even know his name.”

 

“Oh.” Arya’s face reddened. She thought of Jon. She’d once asked him if he ever thought about his mother, and he answered  _ yes _ , but in a voice so quiet Arya still wasn’t completely sure she hadn’t imagined his answer. It didn’t matter; either way, she knew what it was. “Sorry.”

 

“It doesn’t bother me. My mom’s more than enough.”

 

Arya smiled. 

 

That evening, she told Dad that she met a boy who had read his book. Dad smiled, if only for a second, and rested his hand on her shoulder. 

 

“Have you heard from the police yet?” She peered up at him. “Do they have any leads?” 

 

Dad bit his lip. He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

 

“Not important? But that’s Bran—”

 

“Bran is  _ alive _ ,” Dad cut in, turning his phone over to peer into her eyes. “The world isn’t a just place, Arya. But Bran is alive. My son is alive. That’s a gift of justice, of allowing a child to live, and I’ll take it. Whether they ever find who did it, whether it was a drunk or a malicious—it won’t change Bran’s state.”

 

_ It might make him feel better if they’re caught _ . Arya drew in her breath. “Were you about to say a malicious _ Lannister?”  _

 

Dad’s eyes bulged. He jolted to his feet. “Arya.”

 

She stared up at him. “I overheard you and Mom—”

 

“That’s not a conversation you should have overheard,” Dad cut in. “Please, Arya. Leave that to adults.”

 

_ To the police? They won’t do anything _ ! Arya swallowed.  _ And aren’t you always encouraging me to act more adult?  _

 

The world wasn’t just. But she’d be damned if she let it become a less just place because of her. Even if she had to find the truth herself. 

 

Nothing was right. Bran shouldn’t be paralyzed. Gendry should know his dad. Jon should know his mom, and he should have the number of that girl Sansa said he was kissing. And Sansa should be with someone other than stupid Joffrey.

 

They all had those rings. It shouldn’t be hard to tell if one was missing. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Is Sansa here?” 

 

The younger Stark girl was at the door. Jaime ignored her, letting Cersei handle it. A brother comforting his widowed sister in her time of grief and loss. How good of him. Honorable, even. 

 

But Jaime didn’t want to see any Starks. Not after what had happened.

 

He hadn’t meant to do it. Well, he hadn’t thought it out. He just saw that boy staring at them, staring at him and Cersei intertwined in front of his car, and he’d jumped in to leave, hoping the kid hadn’t recognized him, when he saw the little brat’s eyes still fixed on him. And so Jaime hit the gas. Cersei grabbed the ring he’d dropped, a golden ring with three rubies for each of Tywin Lannister’s children.

 

Tyrion had laughed when Tywin gave them to them, saying Tywin had never cared that he was his son before. Jaime supposed it was fitting there was now only two stones in his ring. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the sharp edges of the empty setting. 

 

Tyrion knew, didn’t he? He suspected, probably just as much as Jaime suspected. About Cersei and Robert, that was. About Jaime… his brother would be pissed if he knew Jaime had hit Bran with his car. 

 

But he’d done it to protect them. If the world—or that goddamned Ned Stark—found out he was fucking his twin sister, that all of her children were his, that Robert and Cersei were married in name only, he’d immediately suspect. Ned probably only restrained himself right now because he didn’t want to harm children he believed were Robert’s. 

 

That man had treated his sister like trash, cheating on her right and left, drinking, taking his fists to her. They’d only stayed married for Cersei’s freedom, because their father would surely keep her under his thumb if she divorced and Robert took her for all she was worth. Jaime wouldn’t even put it past Robert to have tried for custody of the kids, if only to spite Cersei, not because he gave a damn about three kids he believed were his own.

 

Jaime was the one who’d seen Joffrey born, not Robert. 

 

Still, he’d never meant to harm Bran. Jaime’s stomach lurched at the memory. The horror sizzling in his knuckles, the fear stabbing his fingertips. 

 

If he called his father, his father would have good advice.

 

If he called his brother, his brother would have good advice. Except he’d never asked for Tyrion’s advice. Never needed to. 

 

_ We’re the only ones who matter. _

 

Who, exactly? 

 

“She thought her sister was here,” Cersei mused, sauntering into the room.

 

“What do you think Joffrey’s doing with her?” Jaime asked. He couldn’t imagine Joffrey actually liked the Stark girl. Not because she wasn’t pretty or smart or kind, but because Joffrey was none of those things. The only person he’d ever tried to impress was his oaf of a father, his father in name only. 

 

The life he could have had, if only he and Cersei weren’t related, if only no one cared. He found her crying after Robert’s first affair, a bruise on her cheek, and he wanted to fight the bastard, but she’d clung to him, begging him not to. And then she’d moved her hand to his crotch, and Jaime, despite waiting during high school and college because he only wanted to have sex for love and Father kept him too busy to find it, lost himself in her. That was love, wasn’t it? Love, from the moment of their conceptions? 

 

At first he’d feared Cersei just wanted revenge, the worst kind of affair to hurt Robert. But then she told him she was pregnant, and it was his, and when he offered her money she slapped him, and he knew she wanted it, wanted Joffrey, wanted part of him, didn’t view him as soiled like everyone else did. 

 

_ Murderer. Only got away with it because his daddy’s money. _

 

It was true. He only had because of his father’s money. But—

 

_ Burn them all!  _

 

“She’s pretty,” Cersei said. “Father expects a pretty girl for him.” 

 

“I didn’t have one.”

 

Cersei glared.

 

“In high school,” Jaime clarified. Her lips turned upwards, a smile. 

 

“At any rate,” Cersei said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Joffrey’s here and Sansa’s not. Arya was mistaken. And Bran still remembers nothing, or else Ned would have shown up here already.” 

 

“He suspects I killed Robert.” 

 

“My husband killed himself with his own stupidity,” Cersei said, dismissing his concerns.

 

_ That’s one way of putting it.  _

 

He really hoped she didn’t. Jaime pressed himself closer to his sister, lips covering hers. He wanted to drink her honey and wine taste. She didn’t even care that he’d almost killed Bran.  _ How could I care?  _

 

“The kids are here,” she whispered.

 

_ Please _ . “We’ll be quiet.” They could slip up the stairs and—

 

A crash. Cersei yanked herself away from Jaime. 

 

“Joffrey!” Myrcella’s scream split the air. And then Cersei joined her, shrieking as she spotted Joffrey on the floor, unconscious. The closet door under the stairs hung open. A cut bled red on Joffrey’s forehead. 

 

“Someone was here!” shouted Tommen. “I just—I didn’t see where they—” He rubbed his eyes. At seven, he was still so small. 

 

_ Shit!  _ Jaime whirled on his heel, charging towards the front door. He gaped, shielding his eyes from the sun that glared and exploded into light against the snow. 

 

Footsteps, from where someone had trampled through snow. And, no one. 

 

No one. Someone. He staggered, almost feeling as if a sharp rock fell into his stomach with the thought. 

 

_ The Stark girl _ . 

 

Joffrey wound up in the emergency room. The doctor claimed he had a mild concussion, but he’d be fine. Cersei, still, sobbed. Myrcella, the good girl she was, took Tommen to the hospital cafeteria for a cookie. 

 

“We’re being punished,” Cersei whispered, wringing her hands. The emergency room waiting area blared with that day’s news. Like anyone who was waiting on the fate of a loved one, or even a loved one’s forehead, wanted to hear the fucking news of how many people died in how many awful ways that day. 

 

“Punished by whom? A god? No—” 

 

She shook her head, clutching her hands over the back of her neck. Jaime reached to untangle them. 

 

“It was that Arya,” Cersei insisted, her eyes detached, almost as if she was seeing into another reality, a world where monsters approached with sharp blades. “You know it was. I—”

 

“Joffrey didn’t see—no one—”

 

“She knows!” Cersei glared at him, face twisted, genuinely terrified. “She—”

 

“Cersei?” 

 

Jaime pulled his hand back. That girl stood there, the older Stark.  _ Sansa _ . And that ugly coach and guidance counselor from the school. “I heard—Joffrey—so I had Brienne drive me—” 

 

“Go away!” Cersei lashed out.

 

“Cersei!” Jaime flinched. 

 

Sansa’s mouth fell open. “I just wanted to—”

 

“Now’s not the time,” Jaime cut in, getting to his feet and shielding Cersei. “He’s going to be all right, Sansa. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that you came by.” He doubted it.

 

The coach’s eyes narrowed as if she knew he was lying and like she hated him for it. How stupid was she? Sansa wasn’t even her daughter. And it was a lie to protect the girl, if anything. 

 

Ah, but that look. He knew it so well. Tainted by what she knew of Jaime Lannister. Murderer. How could he not have known? How could he not have known what Aerys was, when he worked so closely with him? He must not have felt fear, that one. 

 

_ What do you even know? _

 

Had Sansa known? Was she in league with Arya? Judging by the venom seeping from Cersei’s eyes, she surely thought as much. 

 

“Please take her away,” Jaime told the ugly coach. 

 

“You could at least be nicer to a child,” snapped the woman.

 

“Excuse me?” How dare she—

 

“It’s all right, Brienne,” interrupted Sansa, polite like always. It’d only incense Cersei more. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through this year, Cersei.” 

 

Jaime glared at  _ Brienne _ . She put her hand on Sansa’s shoulder, ushering her away. 

 

Cersei glowered after them. “We’re going to make that little bitch—”

 

Jaime opened his mouth to tell Cersei she was just a child, Arya was, and yet—he’d lost the right to say that, hadn’t he? With a crunch. With a foot on the gas pedal.

 

_ The hell was I thinking?  _

 

_ Did you kill Robert, Cersei?  _

 

If she had…  _ I’ll protect you. _ Robert had surely hurt her to instigate it. 

 

Protect her by hurting a teenage girl, like he’d hurt a teenage boy? 

 

He’d had to do it. Everything for their family. Dad said so. 

 

_ Would you be proud of me, Dad?  _

 

He didn't know, but he somehow suspected, even from the few fragmented memories he had, that his mother would not be. And his brother definitely wouldn't be. 

 

But surely, at least, Tyrion would _understand_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Godspeed to those watching the finale tomorrow. 
> 
> No Dany and Jon this chapter, but next chapter is almost entirely them. ;) 
> 
> If you have a moment, I would love to hear from you!


	4. Growing Strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat angsty this chapter, but hopefully hella better than whatever the what that was for the finale last night. :P not that that's a high bar.

She dreamed of flying on a dragon, a monster giving her a ride, a monster she loved and nurtured because it wasn’t a monster at all. Wind whipped through her hair. The dragon’s wings fluttered, and the bouncing as they soared and swooped through the clouds churned her stomach, but it was such a long way down. 

 

Daenerys jerked awake. The dark ceiling greeted her. She launched to her feet, staggering for the bathroom and barely making it in time for her to retch. Her hand slammed down on the toilet seat, holding herself up. Her throat burned from acid. 

 

“Daenerys!” The light flicked on. Daenerys cringed. 

 

Missandei grabbed her hair, twisting it back from her face. Her friend rubbed Daenerys’s back, whispering soothing words. Daenerys closed her eyes. Nausea gripped her again. 

 

“Must’ve eaten something bad,” Daenerys croaked once she finally stopped heaving. Her stomach felt as if it’d been wrung out like a rag. 

 

“Everything okay?” Grey Worm’s voice called from the hallway. The three of them shared an apartment at school. 

 

“Dany’s sick,” Missandei replied. She massaged Daenerys’s temples. “You’re okay.”

 

“I know,” Daenerys managed, gulping air. “I’m gonna—lie down.” Drogon purred around her ankles, comforting her. She picked up the cat, stumbling back to bed. Rhaegal and Viserion jumped up with her, as if they knew she wasn’t well. 

 

The semester had started barely over a week ago, and Daenerys had been looking forward to getting her mind off Jon Snow. He didn’t appear to be on any social media, which sucked, because she’d tried to find him. She hoped his brother was okay. 

 

It was rare for her to connect with someone like that. It’d taken weeks for her to trust Drogo, and months for Daario. And neither of them were people who’d known her father, or his victims.  _ You really didn’t see me like him in spite of every reason to.  _

 

It made her smile. At least she knew someone like him was out there. 

 

_ But I hate being alone.  _

 

Missandei, the best person in the world that she was, brought Dany a cup of water. She gulped it down and snuggled under the blankets, patting a fluffy Drogon as she drifted back to sleep. 

 

She woke up and felt fine, made it to her political science class with Tyrion Lannister. She TA’d for his intro class last semester and loved it. He was the first person who ever acted like it didn’t matter she was a murderer’s daughter, and she in turn acted like it didn’t matter his brother was her father’s murderer. But, in truth, neither of them had ever really sat down and discussed it. They avoided it.

 

Jon hadn’t. 

 

Tyrion’s father’s reputation was the opposite of her’s. Tywin Lannister was a lawyer turned politician, now running for the senate. And yet there seemed to be no love lost between father and son. Daenerys appreciated it. At the very least, she felt like knowing other children who disavowed parents could still succeed.

 

A lump formed in her throat. She wondered what would happen if she were to tell Tyrion about Jon, that she had apologized. Would he think she was needling for an apology on behalf of his brother?

 

“How was your vacation?” Tyrion asked her after class.

 

“Not bad,” she answered. _ It would have been better if I’d gotten Jon’s number.  _ How had they jumped to sex but not to exchanging numbers? 

 

“Good.” He smiled up at her, and she had to run, but not because of disgust. Her stomach roiled again. 

 

_ I guess it’s a bug.  _

 

The next few days, Daenerys stayed under the blankets, fighting between feeling like she could run across a desert and dealing with boiling nausea in her stomach. Missandei brought back notes for her from her classes. 

 

“You should see a doctor,” Grey Worm advised. “Maybe it’s stress. You could have an ulcer. Or a rare disease.”

 

“Helpful,” quipped Missandei.

 

“Hmph.” Daenerys did not like doctors. Not after what happened with Rhaego. She pulled her musky blue robe around her, reading the book Tyrion had assigned. At least one of the benefits of being a top student was all her professors telling her to take as much time as she needed to recover. 

 

“Brought you some flowers,” a voice said on Friday. Missandei grinned, stepping back to reveal Jorah Mormont, her closest friend from her high school days. 

 

“Jorah!” She jumped up, wrapping her arms around him. Her chest ached. 

 

He handed her a bouquet of yellow roses. “Thought they might brighten this place.”

 

Daenerys nodded. Winter didn’t sit well with her. She, Missandei, and Grey Worm constantly yanked their thermostat to near tropical temperatures, which meant they were constantly forking over a massive amount of money in heating bills. At the very least her father had left her enough for that. 

 

“You don’t look well,” Jorah observed.

 

“I can’t shake this freaking bug.”

 

“Shingles?” He’d gotten it last year.

 

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “Nah, I think it’s a stomach bug.” She picked up Drogon, setting him on her lap. He kneaded her knees. 

 

“How was your ski trip?”

 

“She found a boyfriend,” teased Missandei. 

 

Jorah’s face paled. Daenerys gulped. She wasn’t ignorant of Jorah’s feelings for her, but—he knew. She didn’t feel the same. She loved him, but it was not the kind of love where she’d let him see all of her and where she’d want to see all of him, there they could cling to each other and grow life.

 

Did that mean she wasn’t capable of it at all? If she turned a man like him down?  _ Am I made of stone?  _

 

No, she wasn’t. Jon reminded her of that. She could feel. “Well, I didn’t get his number,” Daenerys pointed out. “He’s gone. Into the wind.” Her cheeks burned. She wasn’t usually this emotional. 

 

Jorah snorted. And then he froze. “You’re not…”

 

Daenerys shifted so Drogon could get more comfortable. “Not what?”

 

Jorah’s gaze darted to the side. 

 

Missandei frowned, crossing her arms.

 

“What?” Daenerys pressed. 

 

The word came out quiet. “Pregnant.” 

 

“I can’t be.” She knew that. After Rhaego… she was only sixteen then. Far too young for a baby, and far, far too young for the loss of a child. 

 

_ “Could I ever get pregnant again?’ she managed to that doctor. _

 

_ “I’d consider it close to medically impossible.” _

 

“I know, but—” Jorah had held her through that loss. Those losses. 

 

She calculated in her mind. Three—no, four—no—five, closer to six weeks since she last bled. 

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

_ This can’t be happening!  _

 

Fear gripped her chest. She gripped her forehead. Drogon gripped her knees, anchoring her from trying to run, run away from all of this, from the memory of blood slick against her thighs.

 

If she was pregnant, she’d lose it.  _ I can’t lose a second—I’m not!  _

 

_ Cursed cursed cursedcursedcURsed what I deserve my family NO NO no I’m not fuck you fuck fate fuck any god fuck!  _

 

Jon hadn’t had a condom. She’d told him that was fine, because she couldn’t get pregnant. Okay, STDs were also a concern, but—

 

“Do you want me to get you a test?” Missandei whispered. 

 

Daenerys nodded. 

 

“I’ll get Grey Worm to pick one up.” She texted him. 

 

“Daenerys?” Jorah peered at her. “Who would—”

 

“I don’t even have his number,” Daenerys managed, voice sounding strangled. “I—”

 

“I’m sure you’re not,” Missandei said soothingly. She checked her phone and snorted, holding up her text messages. 

 

_ I need a pregnancy test. _

 

_... ….. ……  _ Grey Worm had responded. 

 

_ Ooooh not for you. Dany?  _

 

Daenerys almost laughed in spite of herself. Missandei smirked. Drogon’s tail slapped at her face as if to say to calm down. She had to calm down. 

 

Surely she wasn’t? With Daario, she’d never been pregnant. 

 

Okay, they’d used condoms.

 

“So who was this guy?” Jorah asked.

 

_ Focus on something else. _ She breathed. One at a time. In. Out. “His name’s Jon Snow,” Daenerys said. “But he doesn’t use social media.” Neither did she, but Missandei did and had helped her check.

 

Jorah’s face stiffened. 

 

“What?” asked Daenerys. Her heart picked up pace. “I know his uncle and grandfather were—Starks. But I don’t want to be creepy and track him down like that.”

 

“Yes, but—”

 

The door opened. Grey Worm staggered inside, stomping snow off his boots. He held out a crinkly plastic pharmacy bag to Daenerys, unable to meet her eyes. 

 

“Good man,” said Missandei, kissing his cheek. 

 

Daenerys stared at the pink box, holding it in her hands. 

 

“Want me to come with you?” Missandei asked.

 

She shook her head, peeling Drogon off her lap and heading to the bathroom. Five minutes to wait. Five. 

 

Daenerys sat on the fluffy green bath mat, head between her knees, knees pulled up to her chest. 

 

The door opened. Missandei. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

 

Daenerys’s eyes filled with tears as her friend sank down on the carpet next to her, folding her legs underneath her. She took Daenerys’s hand. Dany leaned her head against Missandei’s shoulder. She’d never had a mother, or a sister. 

 

No, she did.  _ It’s you.  _

 

The timer on her phone went off. Daenerys reached for the test, flipping it over. Her stomach lurched. 

 

“Oh,” said Missandei, surprised. 

 

Hot tears splashed down Daenerys’s cheeks.  _ Positive _ . Cold washed over her, like she was drowning in ice water. 

 

Again. She’d have to go through this again, her womb failing her, the way everyone looked at her in the emergency room, like she was a delinquent for getting pregnant at sixteen. She heard them whispering her name.  _ Targaryen _ .

 

_ He offered me a way to leave Viserys. And I loved him. _

 

Had he loved her? She didn’t know. She liked to think Drogo had, but he was a broken man too, and yet he admired her strength. He didn’t see her as a weak tool to take out his rage on, unlike Viserys. She slept with him because she wanted to, because she got to choose, not because Viserys was in a horny mood and wanted to fondle her breasts. 

 

“Come on,” Missandei said quietly, helping Daenerys to her feet. “You’re not alone.”

 

_ Please _ . Daenerys stepped out. Grey Worm and Jorah saw her face and instantly flinched, knowing.

 

“Do you want to make an appointment?” asked Jorah.

 

“Why bother?” Daenerys retorted. “It’ll happen anyways.”  _ I—if I could— _

 

_ I want to live.  _ She’d be graduating soon. She could take care of a kid. But there was no need for her to worry about it. Surely her body would shut it down. Surely she was cursed. Daenerys grabbed Drogon and cried into his fur, cheeks sticky. 

 

“I have a pretty good idea where to look for Jon Snow, if he’s the son of Eddard Stark,” Jorah said, voice low. 

 

“Jon Snow?” asked Missandei. 

 

Jorah nodded. “My father—used to work for his father. Ned Stark’s.” 

 

There was no point. “I’ll just miscarry it,” she said again. Bringing life into the world only to bring death. That was her. Was it the universe’s way of punishing her for being a Targaryen? “Why bother telling him when it’d only burden him?” 

 

“You don’t know that,” said Grey Worm.

 

“The doctor told me. My uterus is misshapen. The infection didn’t help.”

 

_ Your child is the infection; to save you we have to take it out. _

 

Drogo was already dead then, even if breathing still; why did it matter to her? What was there to save, anyways? Why save her life?

 

_ “I won’t let you die,” Jorah had insisted to her then, holding her hand as waves of nausea and dizziness and achiness rolled over her, monitors beeping around her.  _

 

“You are the girl who always teaches that there is a future,” cut in Grey Worm. “You run a whole scholarship on that principle.”

 

“I’ve never known you to give up,” Missandei added, clutching Dany’s shoulder. 

 

“I turned off Drogo’s life support.” And it’d almost killed her doing so. It was agony, and she’d been in such pain she couldn’t even walk from her surgery to remove the dead fetus. 

 

“And you held a funeral,” countered Jorah. 

 

Daenerys gulped. 

 

“If you’re looking for a reason to find this man,” said Jorah. “This Jon Snow. I don’t think you need to give yourself permission to find someone who really liked you. He’d probably want to see you again.”

 

Daenerys’s vision blurred.  _ You’re encouraging me to find another man? You are?  _

 

“You do not have to suffer alone,” said Missandei. “Remember when I had a hard time adjusting here, to this college life? And you told me that, then. That I wasn’t alone. So we’re telling you this now.”

 

“You deserve to be happy,” Jorah whispered. 

 

_ Why?  _

 

They were telling her why. Her life braided into theirs, and she was better for it, and so were, amazingly, they.

 

Grey Worm held up the keys. They jangled. He smirked. “Road trip.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re back!” Sansa threw her arms around her mother. She beamed at Bran, fighting the urge to burst into tears on what was a happy occasion.

 

“Oh, it’s good to be home,” Mom said, running her hand through Sansa’s hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

 

Sansa managed a nod.  _ Proud… _

 

Why did that hurt? Joffrey was hardly talking to her the past week, though he said they were fine, not on the rocks or anything like that. Sansa couldn’t tell if she should believe him or if she was just being paranoid. Brienne told her not to worry about him, that he was probably embarrassed, that he never wanted to be seen as weak.  _ “Fragile masculinity, _ ” Brienne had called it. “ _ They think it’s strength, but it’s not.” _

 

_ What  _ is _ strength, then?  _

 

And who the hell even  _ was _ that intruder? Why was someone taking it out on all the children? At the very least now Arya had given up the ruby tirade, or so Sansa assumed, since her sister hadn’t brought it up anymore. 

 

“How are you doing, Bran?” Sansa asked, gazing down at her little brother. 

 

Ghost licked Bran’s face. He patted the dog. Jon, Robb, and Talisa had come for dinner that night to welcome Bran home. “I’m fine.” He gazed at Arya, who looked down at the floor. 

 

_ Don’t avoid him, Arya! _

 

“Are you sure?” Sansa pressed.  _ See, I care.  _

 

“I don’t know,” Bran said. “I mean, I’m still me, and yet at the same time I don’t feel like it. I…” His voice trailed off. He stared down at his legs, clad in jeans and unmoving. 

 

“You don’t remember at all what happened before you were hit?” Arya asked.

 

“Arya!” she hissed. 

 

“It’s fine,” said Bran. “No, I don’t, Arya.” He focused on Sansa. “I heard your boyfriend got attacked by an intruder. Mom was terrified for you.”

 

“He’s doing all right,” Sansa said. Arya stared at her phone like it held the mysteries of the universe. 

 

“I’m so behind in school,” Bran managed. Ghost whined, licking his hand again. “I don’t even know how I’m going to catch up.” 

 

“May I make a suggestion?” interrupted Dad’s voice. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled at his son. “Meera Reed’s in your grade. I can ask Howland if she’d be willing to help you catch up.” 

 

“That’d work,” Bran agreed.

 

Dad hesitated, and then flung his arms around Bran. “Glad to have you back.” His voice sounded rough, as if he was fighting tears. “We missed you.” 

 

Robb and Talisa, Mom and Rickon appeared from the kitchen, all gushing over Bran.

 

_ We’re together again. _ Sansa watched as Jon stood back from the rest of them, glancing uncertainty at Mom as if he wasn’t sure if he was welcomed. Arya wrapped her arms around herself, lowering her chin. Sansa beckoned Jon over. 

 

Surprise flitted across his face, but he came. 

 

That night, Sansa heard Mom and Dad talking. “I felt awful being away for so long.” 

 

“Bran needed you,” Dad replied.

 

“They all did. It’s hard with competing needs. It’s so hard, but it’s—the best job in the world,” Mom said.  “But there’s always the knowledge you might be failing.” 

 

_ You’re not failing,  _ Sansa thought.  _ I’ll make it easier for you. I’m doing my best. I’ll do even more. _

 

“Like I failed Theon,” Dad said.

 

“You didn’t. He was his father’s son; they’re always the same—”

 

“Blood doesn’t determine what you’re like, Catelyn. Theon was—” Dad blew out his breath. “He made his choices. And that was that.” 

 

_ He came by,  _ Sansa wanted to call through the door.  _ He cared.  _ But she stood in silence, until she went back to her room. 

 

_ And what about Jon?  _

 

She couldn’t shake off the haunted look on his face. She’d always been kind of snotty to him, since she agreed with her mother that it was rude Dad took the boy in, refusing to allow any discussion of his mother. And yet they’d still overcome. Their marriage was happy, wasn’t it? 

 

Loneliness bit into her, and she hated that she might have shut the door in someone else’s face. 

 

_ Theon, why did you do what you did? _

 

Sansa pulled her phone out and texted him.  _ WhY?  _

 

When she woke Saturday morning to light streaming through her windows, a response blinked on her phone.  _ Why what? _

 

_ Bran’s home,  _ she texted back.  _ Why are you answering me? And why did you do it in the first place?  _

 

_ It doesn’t matter. The point is I did it. _

 

Nope. Not cutting it. Sansa gritted her teeth.  _ Yes it does matter! _

 

_ It won’t change anything. _

 

_ I don’t care.  _ Sansa rolled over, holding her phone above her.  _ Let’s meet for coffee. _

 

_ I can’t. _

 

_ I’ll buy.  _

 

She walked into Hot Pie’s Coffee Shop two hours later. Other patrons glowered at the scruffy hobo huddling at the table closest to the giant windows. Theon’s head hung down as if to block the light. Or maybe he was sleeping. 

 

Sansa bought two cups of coffee and two croissants. She tapped Theon on his shoulder.

 

He lifted his head. “Hello.”

 

She pushed the coffee and croissant towards him, sitting across from him. The chair squealed as it scraped across the floor. She leaned forward, resting her elbows. “Eat.” 

 

He shrugged, but stuffed his mouth. 

 

A suspicion niggled at Sansa’s mind. “Where do you live right now?”

 

Theon’s eyes skittered away from her. 

 

“ _ Theon _ .” 

 

“The park bench?”

 

Her stomach clenched. “It’s freezing.”

 

He held up his hands, coated in thick gloves. Croissant crumbs clung to them. “Sometimes I can get into a shelter.”

 

“Why aren’t you staying with the rest of your family?” Sansa demanded. 

 

Theon gulped the coffee. Sansa sipped hers, but it stung her throat. “My dad was facing a—lawsuit. A deserved one, I guess. He asked me to get him money. Told me to either beg your father for it or—I knew what your father’s answer would be, so I—”

 

“Why would you think he wouldn’t give it to you?” Sansa interrupted. “He loved you.”

 

“My father—” Theon swallowed. “I couldn’t risk letting him down.” It came out a broken plea. “He’s my father, Sansa, he’s the only one I have—he said I didn’t even look like his son, having lived with the Starks so long—” Tears beaded his eyes, and snot his nostrils. 

 

Balon Greyjoy had been one of her father’s trusted employees years ago. And then Dad saw that he barely cared for his son and let his younger brother, Euron, beat his kids. And when Balon said he planned to give up his youngest son, Dad took him in.  

 

_ Did Balon always resent your charity?  _ Did he view Theon as the embodiment of his failings?

 

“My sister was pissed at me,” Theon said, tracing a dirty gloved finger along the top of the coffee cup. “But I—he—after I stole, and then your dad decided not to press charges, I went home, and my dad—he said he didn’t want me. Said I failed him. Said I wasn’t smart enough to be his son.” Theon pressed his fingers over his eyes. 

 

“So, you betrayed my father for nothing,” Sansa stated. Her heart pounded.

 

He nodded. Didn’t even defend himself. 

 

Sansa would rather he denied it, flipping the table, screamed at her. Her words were true, but they didn’t feel like justice. 

 

_ You wanted to earn your father’s love, and you lost— _

 

_ No.  _ Dad didn’t hate Theon.  _ You just lost his respect _ . And an ethics professor’s respect was hard to earn back. 

 

“Do you have a job?”

 

“Who will hire a thief?”

 

“McDonald’s would.”

 

Theon wrinkled his nose, and she couldn’t help but snort. “Fair.” 

 

“I know what I did was wrong,” Theon choked out. “I—”

 

_ You wanted him to love you. _

 

What if, to earn her parents’ love, she had to do immoral things instead of ethical things? Sansa couldn’t imagine. It was hard enough trying to be  _ good _ all the time.  _ You’ve been torn in two.  _

 

She reached out, putting her hand over Theon’s.

 

He stiffened. 

 

“If you get a job in fast food, even just for now,” Sansa said. “Robb and Jon aren’t staying at home; they visited last night, but they’re leaving this morning. That means the basement’s empty. I can smuggle you food, and you could eat at work. It’s only going to get colder the next few months, you know. Before we even get a dream of spring.” 

 

Theon’s mouth fell open. “Sansa… if your mother saw me she’d call the police. And she’d be right to.” He shook his head. “I can’t take anything else from your family.”

 

“ _ Our _ family,” Sansa cut in. “If you were Robb or Jon, I’d—”

 

“But I’m not Robb or Jon.”

 

“What good does living on the streets do?” Sansa demanded. “Is that right, that you’re suffering? Does that make you feel better? It’s just suffering, and it sucks seeing you like this. It doesn’t make me feel better at  _ all _ . Where would it end?”  _ I just want you to be okay. I want everyone to be okay. _

 

_ I can’t fix Joffrey or Bran or Arya or Mom and Dad. _

 

“Please,” she said, wrapping her palms around the heat of her coffee cup. “Let me help you.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“You smell like fast food,” Arya remarked. Jon sighed. 

 

“Arya!” hollered Mom from the kitchen. “That’s not very nice!” 

 

Sansa rolled her eyes, stomping down the stairs towards the basement. Probably to do laundry or something. Jon hoisted his backpack up on his shoulder. “See you later, Arya.”

 

She hugged him goodbye, but her embrace was stiff, cool compared to how she usually embraced him.  _ What’s wrong? _ Jon frowned down at her. “You okay?”

 

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

 

_ You’re not.  _ But for the first time, she didn’t want to tell him. Of all his siblings, he and Arya were always braided together, two loners and outcasts, not what they should be. They always confided in each other. Jon taught Arya how to play soccer. And Arya was the only sibling who really knew about Ygritte. 

 

_ What can’t you tell me? _

 

But she turned away, saying she had homework. 

 

Jon nodded at Catelyn, who nodded back. At least she acknowledged him. Had taken him in. Raised him. It was more than what most people would do, he knew. And his real mother, if alive, hadn’t even wanted him, so. 

 

He trudged towards his father’s study, now on the second floor. 

 

“Come in.” 

 

Jon peeked his head in. “I’m heading back to school.” 

 

Dad pushed his chair back from his desk. Thick books lined the shelves and stacks of legal pads rested next to the ancient computer with a thick pregnant back. A photograph of their entire family and of Dad with his two siblings, now both dead as victims of Daenerys’s grandfather. 

 

Should he say it? Should he not? 

 

Dad wrapped his arms around him, an embrace. “Thanks for coming. It meant a lot to us. Bran, especially.” He tipped Jon’s chin, looking into his eyes. 

 

As far as Jon could tell, he looked a little bit like Ned. More so than the rest of Dad’s sons. He wondered if Catelyn resented him for that. When he was younger, he and Arya used to joke about dying their hair auburn like the rest of their siblings. 

 

“Happy to come,” Jon said, forcing a smile. “I’ll visit again soon.” He really was just across town at Winterfell University, a forty minute drive with low traffic. He’d moved in the second he could, first to a dorm, not to an apartment, because he didn’t want to live under a roof he burdened even by being under it. “Got a heavy load this semester.” 

 

Dad nodded. “I don’t doubt you’ll make me proud.”

 

Jon’s breath caught in his throat. He wondered what Dad would say if he knew Jon was still ruminating on a girl with silver hair and purple eyes. 

 

_ She made me laugh, Dad.  _

 

“You already have,” Dad added. “Always.”

 

Jon blinked. In all his years, Dad never told him he was proud of him for anything besides graduating high school. This was—this—

 

“You have more grace and integrity in your character than most exhibit their entire lives,” Dad added. A shadow crossed his face. “Especially because of circumstances beyond your control.”

 

_ You’re praising my character?  _

 

It was the best kind of compliment, coming from Eddard Stark. Jon’s insides felt like they were dissolving even as a question popped into Jon’s head. “Would my mother be proud of me?”

 

Instead of his face stiffening, Dad’s face parted in a small smile. “She would be. She  _ is _ , I’m sure.” 

 

Jon opened his mouth, and then closed it.

 

“You can ask,” Dad said.

 

Jon hesitated. He thought again of Daenerys, and how she knew about what a monster her father was, and her bravery.  _ If I heard the worst of my mother… I could bear it. Now.  _ Now that he knew it didn’t have to crush someone. Now that he knew you could still ski and breathe and  _ laugh _ . “Who… was she?” 

 

Dad exhaled. “If I told you I would tell you at the end of the school year, would you be willing to trust me and wait?” 

 

_ Why? Why do I have to wait? _ He’d waited twenty years. But… 

 

He nodded.

 

“Thank you, Jon,” Dad said quietly, squeezing his shoulder. “My not telling you is not a reflection of your character, if you must know. It’s of mine. You have her best qualities, that I will say.”

 

_ So she couldn’t have been a complete monster.  _ Jon’s heart lifted. “Thank you.” He hesitated.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m worried for Arya,” Jon added. “Nothing in particular, just—keep an eye on her?” With Bran, he really didn’t want to add to his father’s worries, but—something wasn’t right. 

 

Dad frowned. He nodded. 

 

And Jon left then, jogging down the street towards the bus stop. It’d be about a half hour trip. He paused by the Dragonstone Inn. He had enough time to get a cup of coffee before his bus came. 

 

He spotted Jaime Lannister stumbling out of the local coffee shop. The man’s face was white, as if he’d just seen a ghost. 

 

Jon frowned as he stepped inside, breathing the scent of mocha and espresso, cinnamon and sugar. Jaime glanced over his shoulder, back into the shop, but not at Jon. At a girl with silver braids and curls, lilac eyes, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. 

 

And the girl was staring at Jon.

 

Jon’s mouth fell open. He wanted to call her name, but he couldn’t—not out loud; it’d be too risky for her. He crossed the floor in three paces, stopping in front of her. “You’re here?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What are you—”

 

“Looking for  _ you _ ,” she managed, glancing at the two friends she had gone skiing with, both of whom flanked her. 

 

Looking for him. Not leaving him.  _ You really did care. _

 

“I’m sorry, Dany,” he blurted out. Surely no one would recognize her nickname? “I—when my brother was—we left so quickly, and I didn’t have—I should have tried harder—”

 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Daenerys interrupted. “Really, Jon.”

 

She used his name. He drew in his breath. The aroma from her tea smelled sweet, like chai and berries. “I’m glad you came.” 

 

Daenerys’s two friends elbowed and winked at each other. Daenerys rolled her eyes. Her hand slid out, taking his. And then her lips trembled. 

 

“What’s going on?” He saw the bus pulling up in the mirror behind the counter. “Oh—”

 

“We can give you a ride,” Daenerys interrupted. “I mean, Grey Worm drove us. We can talk. We should—”

 

He nodded. Daenerys’s friends waved. 

 

“We’ll be in the car,” called the girl. What was her name? Oh right—Missandei! 

 

“‘I’ll buy you a coffee,” Daenerys offered, flashing him a smile. “I kind of think it’s the least I can do.”

 

_ You don’t owe me anything. _ Still, he didn’t feel like turning her down. He never realized how much he wanted to be warm until someone lit a match and invited him in. His muscles loosened, his limbs stopped trembling, he could breath and the air didn’t pierce his lungs, but soothed. “Thank you.”

 

She bought him a cappuccino. “How is Bran?”

 

“He got home yesterday, actually,” Jon admitted. “I went to visit for that. I normally live in an apartment right by campus. Um, he’s—paraplegic, but—”

 

“That must be hard to adjust to.” 

 

Jon nodded. The waiter handed him his coffee. A thick white coat was buttoned up to her collar, a lavender scarf wrapped around her neck. “How did you get here?”

 

“We drove all night.” Daenerys smiled. “It’s got to be twenty degrees colder here.” 

 

“Is it a long weekend, or—”

 

“No,” said Daenerys. “I thought we should—talk. After everything happened so quickly. We never got a chance to—”

 

_ I like you.  _

 

“And there are things I need to tell you,” Daenerys blurted out. She pushed open the glass doors. Jon followed her outside. A snowflake fell, landing on her cheek. “ _ Something _ , I need to tell you.” 

 

“First things first,” Jon said. “Can I get your number?”

 

Daenerys snorted. “You can get my number.” She snatched his phone, typing it in. “There.” 

 

He sent her a cat emoji to make sure she had his. She nodded “I approve. Ghost?”

 

“He’s good. My brother took him for the day. Talisa’s in nursing school, and she wanted to use him as a therapy dog for her last day at her pediatric rotation.”

 

Daenerys grinned. Jon followed her towards the back parking lot. She stopped while still on the alleyway to the side, glancing around as if she wanted a perfect private place, but there was none. 

 

“So, how did you find me?”

 

“I wouldn’t have. I mean, I wanted to, but the real reason I did was because I needed to. I don’t want you to think I’m stalking or anything.”

 

“I know you’re not,” he said. His heart thumped. A surreal feeling settled on him. He felt a little bit like floating, but not in an exhilarating sense. “Is—”

 

“We have a problem,” she said, looking up at him. 

 

_ A problem. _

 

He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

 

_ Now isn’t the time. Now isn’t the— _

 

_ I’m proud of you. _

 

_ No, I—I— _

 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.    
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! As always, please let me know what you think!


	5. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken

“Daenerys is back.”

 

“That’s great!” Sam exclaimed, whirling to face his friend. He beamed, a glass of water in his hand. The lights shone dim and dusky in their small apartment. 

 

“Daenerys is pregnant.” Jon dropped onto the couch’s sagging cushions, head in his hands. He didn’t want to lift his head. 

 

He’d made her say it again, even though he’d heard the first time. He had to be sure.  _ “You’re—what?” His hand gripped her arm.  _

 

_ “Pregnant.” Her eyes searched his face, her lips trembling, not quite able to close. “It’s yours.”  _

 

_ “I know,” he said, because he hadn’t even thought that. Why had she? “Are you—sure?” _

 

_ “I took two different tests, one on the way here. I’m throwing up, I’m tired, I’m—” Her chest heaved. “Missandei said it was only fair you heard about it, but I—” _

 

_ His head felt like it was floating off his neck. This couldn’t be real. “Are you okay?” _

 

_ Her eyes filled. She swallowed, shrugging her shoulders. She nodded. _

 

_ It was a lie and he knew it.  _

 

_ “I was told I couldn’t have children,” she said. “I’m probably going to miscarry it. But—” _

 

_ How had she been told that? Jon’s scalp felt too small for his skull. “What do you want to do?”  _

 

_ She looked up at him, irises’ purple deepening as she waited for him to answer first.  _

 

_ “If you need money for an abortion, I’ll get it to you If you want me to go with you, I will.” He drew in his breath, and the only face he saw in his mind was Catelyn’s, and the words he heard from his father were twisted. Disappointment. Ashamed.  _

 

I can’t escape what I am. 

 

_ No. No, fuck that. He wasn’t giving up. He never had. Even his father hadn’t given up. Jon gritted his teeth. “If you want to have it, I’ll help you.”  _

 

That was when tears started streaming down her face. She wasn’t alone.  _ “I’m sorry to burden—” _

 

_ “You’re not a burden,” he cut in, because he knew what that was like, because he wanted to believe it about himself. And it reminded him. _

 

_ He felt warm, alive, full, when he was with her.  _

 

She’d gone back to Dragonstone Inn, where Missandei and Grey Worm were staying. And Jon had come home. He had her number now, at least. 

 

“What?” Sam squeaked out. “Um, say that again? Hey? Jon?”

 

“It’s mine,” he said, lifting his face from his hands. Gilly appeared in the doorway, folding her arms. Little Sam must be asleep. 

 

“You didn’t use protection?” 

 

Jon’s face burned.  _ I knocked a girl up on our first time together.  _

 

“No offense, Jon, but are you sure it’s—well, are you sure it’s—”

 

“Yes,” Jon cut in. Daenerys didn’t strike him as a liar. 

 

“You trust her,” said Gilly.

 

Jon nodded.

 

“But Jon—”

 

“You trusted  _ me _ ,” Gilly pointed out, looking to Sam. “And Little Sam isn’t even your biological son.”

 

“He is in every other way,” Sam protested. Because Sam was everything Jon wished Catelyn could have been. A good dad, even though Gilly’s kid wasn’t his. He’d done everything he could to save Gilly from her father’s abuse, and adored that child and Little Sam adored him. Jon liked babysitting the boy; he called Jon his uncle. “And I’d known you for months.”

 

“When you met me I was already pregnant.” Gilly settled down on the arm of the armchair. “This girl came all the way here to find and tell you. Jon. I’m guessing she wants to have it.” 

 

“She didn’t say she’d completely made a decision,” Jon said. But he already knew, didn’t he? She drove here to find him. That was her answer.  _ You want this.  _

 

“What do  _ you _ want?” questioned Gilly, resting her chin on Sam’s shoulder. 

 

Jon drew in his breath.  _ I want— _

 

_ I want to be like you, Sam. Like my father.  _

 

If she wanted to have it, that meant she was risking an awful lot. He still didn’t quite know what she meant about her not being able to have children. She was risking grief, that cold thunderstorm of an emotion, loud enough to jar you out of every moment of peace and sharp enough to shock you.  _ Because she wants it.  _

 

_ Could we make it?  _ They were both college students, not finished yet. She lived hours away. It wasn’t fair to ask her to move north for him, right? And if she was having his child… 

 

Dad would be so disappointed. Catelyn would be justified. But, this twinge in his fingers _ — _ he wanted.

 

“Are you thinking about your stepmom?” Sam ventured.

 

Jon nodded. 

 

“Do you want to leave your life to please someone who’s never even been pleased with your existence?” Gilly asked. 

 

_ I trust her. _

 

_ My child would be the grandchild of the man who murdered my grandfather.  _

 

How star-crossed. Jon almost laughed. He pulled out his phone. 

 

“Ask her for dinner here,” Gilly suggested, twirling brown strands around her fingers. “Her friends can come, too. Little Sam can give her a dose of reality.” She swallowed. “Also, Jon, it isn’t you and her against the world.”

 

“Exactly,” Sam said, leaning forward, a smile across his face. “Gilly and I will never forget how you helped us. We’ll be there for you, of course.” He still looked nervous, but earnest.

 

They hadn’t changed what they thought of him. Jon texted Daenerys. 

 

A bark outside.  _ Ghost! _ Jon leaped to his feet, hurrying to the door. He hoped Robb wouldn’t want to stick around—he was not in the mood to talk about this kind of thing with his older brother, not just yet. 

 

“Good Boy is back,” Robb announced, setting Ghost loose in the apartment. The dog bounded over to Sam. Gilly shrank behind Sam, still slightly frightened of the animal. Robb grinned at Jon, and then his grin faded. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“What?” Jon asked. Did he still looked shocked or something? “Nothing. I’m tired.” 

 

Robb’s eyebrows shot up. “You are a terrible liar, little brother.”

 

_ Brother.  _ Jon’s chest throbbed. _ Oh, I just knocked up a girl whose dad killed our grandfather after sleeping with her once, that’s all.  _

 

_ Is that impressive or shameful?  _

 

“Okay, fine,” Robb said, reaching out to ruffle Jon’s hair. “Talisa and I are going to dinner tonight. I should get going.” He studied Jon. “You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

 

Jon nodded. He doubted he looked convincing. 

 

“All right,” Robb said slowly. His shoulders slouched as he stomped off. 

 

_ Do you really want me to open up so badly _ ? 

 

He wished he could. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.  _

 

He hadn’t expected to see those features ever again. Silver hair, purple eyes. Jaime knew a daughter was still alive out there, but he certainly never expected her to show up in this town. And he certainly never expected to run into her.

 

_ Burn them all!  _

 

What on earth was that girl thinking? Was she that arrogant? 

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” commented a voice as dry as crumbling wallpaper. Not that Tywin Lannister would ever allow crumbling wallpaper to mar his office. 

 

Jaime turned to face his father. “I pretty much did.” 

 

_ Dad, I almost murdered  the Stark kid. Cersei and I have been fucking for years. Also Cersei may have murdered her husband.  _

 

Dad arched his brows. 

 

“The Targaryen girl,” said Jaime. “Aerys’s daughter.” 

 

“She’s in town?” Dad stood. “What an idiot. People will still recognize her features. She’ll be lucky if a mob doesn’t bludgeon her to death.”

 

“Mm.” Jaime sighed. She should dye her hair or something. 

 

Jaime hadn’t planned on being in his thirties and still working for his father, but it wasn’t as if anyone else would hire him. Everyone, for all their relief that Aerys Targaryen had been caught and slaughtered like a pig, did not want to thank the person who did it. Murder might be contagious, after all. 

 

_ “He just did it to save his own skin.” _

 

_ “He had to have known.” _

 

_ “Monster.” _

 

_ “You’re my brother, Jaime,” Cersei breathed, hands cupping his face. _

 

_ “My son,” Dad always called him.  _

 

Jaime pulled out his phone. This, at least, he could text his younger brother. Jaime was the only one who kept in touch with Tyrion. 

 

_ Saw Aerys’s daughter today.  _ Jaime plopped down in his chair. He tried to pull up campaign stats on his computer. His vision blurred. He couldn’t focus. 

 

Even if Jaime did get caught, Dad would bribe whatever judge was in existence. The accident would be hushed up. Although, the fact that it was Ned Stark’s child who’d gotten hurt certainly unsettled things a bit. Ned Stark would do anything for justice. He was just so  _ righteous _ . 

 

They’d just been students when Aerys died, but Ned and Robert were the ones who found Jaime. Jaime would never forget the way Ned looked at him when he saw Aerys’s blood splashed all over his hands. 

 

_ In your town?  _ Tyrion texted. He worked as a professor all the way in Meereen.  _ That’s funny. I have her as a student. _

 

Jaime’s eyes bulged.  _ And she knows this?  _ he responded. 

 

_ We don’t discuss it.  _

 

Jaime blew out his breath. 

 

_ But if we did, it wouldn’t matter. She is not her father.  _

 

Jaime doubted that very much. They were all their parents, all three Lannisters scheming like their father. The lion had three cubs. Though Tyrion was hardly acknowledged, considering that he was a dwarf and had married that poor high school sweetheart, Tysha. Cersei certainly had never forgiven Tyrion for being born at all, as their mother traded her spirit for his that day. 

 

But that was the answer, wasn’t it? Family. To the world Jaime was stained, but to Cersei Jaime had no blood on his hands. All he had on his hands were strands of her own golden hair. 

 

He went to Cersei’s after work. Joffrey was doing better now, and Myrcella and Tommen were always delighted to see him. Cersei pulled him into the kitchen. “Dad told me about the Targaryen girl.” 

 

“I’m sure,” said Jaime. “I’d rather not talk about her.” He poured himself a glass of scotch. 

 

Cersei sighed. “There are ways to handle it. If she decides to move here or—”

 

His head ached. The scotch burned his throat, smoky taste bitter, like ash. “I just saw her in a  _ coffee _ shop, Cersei. Maybe she just wanted to revisit the scenes of her father’s crimes, or—”

 

“Well, if you see her again, confront her on it,” Cersei suggested, leaning over the counter. “That’s what I’d do. Say her name and everyone will flee. Everyone always isolates themselves from you because they spread horrible rumors about you killing him and your knowledge of his bullshit; isolate her so that she knows—” 

 

“A little vengeful for a mere teenager, right?” Or was she in her twenties? He didn’t care. 

 

Cersei shrugged. “Teenagers are smart.” 

 

“I presume Ned Stark still doesn’t know,” said Jaime, changing the subject. “Since he—”

 

Cersei narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

 

Jaime frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

 

“That girl suspects. Arya. And her sister. About Bran. Arya might be using Sansa to get to Joffrey.”

 

“There’s no way.”

 

“Joffrey got hurt—”

 

“Sansa was with that guidance counselor—”

 

“Maybe she’s in on it too! Next time, Arya might do something worse!” 

 

Jaime stiffened. Now his sister just sounded paranoid. 

 

Cersei wrung her hands. “Why else would someone be in our house unless they—”

 

“Looking for Robert’s money? He’d be the kind of buffoon to leave some lying around.” Jaime poured himself a glass of water from the sink. 

 

“That’s not any better!” Cersei glared. 

 

“Why not?” Jaime managed. He set the glass down with a clank. “Why not, Cersei?”  _ Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t. _

 

_ But for us, wouldn’t I— _

 

“Ned was onto us,” Cersei said. “He would have told Robert. Can you imagine what Robert would’ve done to the kids? What that would do to them, if they knew?” 

 

A lump grew in Jaime’s throat. “Cersei—”

 

“You hit that kid! And you left me no choice. You should have done it ages ago!” Cersei cussed. “You were too much of a scared little bitch to.” 

 

Jaime flinched. His mind whirled. Wasn’t there something—anything—that could have been done instead? Anything? 

 

“I’m sorry,” Cersei managed. “I didn’t mean to call you that, Jaime, I didn’t.” 

 

His hand clasping the wheel, pressing down on the gas pedal. The feeling of the kid crunching against metal. 

 

_ I panicked. _

 

_ You didn’t. You knew exactly what you would do if someone found out. _

 

“I did it to save our kids,” Cersei said, pulling him close. She pressed her chin into the crook between his neck. It fit so perfectly, and yet her jaw was hard, uncomfortable against his collarbone. “For us. There’s nothing I won’t do. There’s—no one will hurt our kids ever again.”

 

If only it were that simple. Cersei seemed to think problems could be buried, forgotten. Jaime had seen enough ghosts claw their way out of coffins and through earth to know that wasn’t true. 

 

_ Burn them all! _

 

“If Ned Stark suspects that we had an affair, he won’t be letting it go.” And now he probably suspected about Robert, and maybe even Bran… but it wasn’t Ned’s style to use his kids. 

 

“I don’t care. We’ll win. We always win.” 

 

_ What does that mean for Arya? For Sansa? _

 

They were no different than their brother, the one he rammed his SUV into, the SUV that still stayed in his garage, unusable. But if Cersei did something stupid, something that was harder to stay buried—Ned Stark surely wouldn’t hesitate if his daughters in addition to his son—he’d no doubt  _ realize _ he was being targeted.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

…

 

“Brienne Tarth, isn’t it?” 

 

The tall woman paused by her apartment, hand in her bag to search for her keys. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him, even though he stood out of the streetlights. “You.”

 

Of course, she recognized him. And knew exactly what he was. Aerys’s killer. He didn’t have a reputation to protect. Jaime took a step towards her. “You mentor the Stark girls.”

 

Her brow creased. “I’m Arya’s soccer coach and a guidance counselor. I mentor a lot of students.” 

 

“Jaime Lannister.” He held out his hand, wondering if she would take it. If not, he’d sling it into her face. Not literally, but he could use it against her somehow. And if she took it, he’d know.

 

She shook his hand. “You know my name.” Frost still coated her words. “I don’t mentor your nephew, though.” She stepped closer, into the soft glow of a streetlight. 

 

“I’m aware.”  _ He’s my son _ . Jaime could imagine the horror on this lady’s face if she knew. “I’m here to ask you something.” 

 

“What?” A snowflake drifted down, landing on the tip of her nose. Ridiculous. 

 

“Sansa was with you the entire time that day, wasn’t she?” Jaime scuffed his shoes against the crack in the sidewalk. 

 

Brienne frowned. Her blond hair hung scraggly around her face. Though young, her hair’s blonde hue looked as if it was more a result of a fading color God decided to wash out, in contrast to Cersei’s bright gold. “She was.”

 

“Cersei just worries about who might have had a motive to hurt Joffrey.” Jaime offered her a charming smile, not that he needed it, but it could help.  _ There. Now you ask Sansa about it so that she knows someone might be suspecting her _ . She was a smart girl; she’d figure it out.

 

Brienne stepped in front of him when he turned to go. She towered over him. Good grief, could a woman really be so tall? 

 

“Is that a threat?” 

 

“What?” More snow fell. Jaime just wanted to go home. He stepped to the side.  _ Not from me _ . “Just looking after my nephew’s wellbeing.” 

 

“You have a reputation.”

 

“For murdering the worst of murderers?” Jaime spun around to face her this time. “Ah yes. How dare I take the law into my own hands. What exactly else are we supposed to do with the law, then?”

 

Brienne’s lip curled. “Jaime—”

 

“What I said was what I said,” he said. “Nothing more, nothing less.” Of course she wouldn’t take his word for it. No one would take his word for anything. 

 

_ How could you not have known?  _ Reporters clamored to ask him. 

 

Oh, it was worse. He  _ had _ known, and he thought he could be a hero. But no one really wanted a hero with flesh and blood. They wanted an emotionless god, governing from the skies above. They did not want someone who might be scared shitless for his family. Where there were emotions, there were villains. 

 

He knew for a day before he’d made his choice. Killing Aerys. 

 

“You owe me an explanation,” Brienne called after him. “And why me? Why not Catelyn, or Ned, or Sansa herself?”

 

_ Because I hurt Bran _ . “Does it matter?” 

 

“To you it does.” 

 

Jaime shook his head. The snow fell harder. “Watch out for that girl.” 

 

“See, there is a threat,” she said. “But not from  _ you _ . So why can’t you do anything? Why can’t you take action to prevent it? You’ve done it before.”

 

And lost almost everything. This would ensure he’d lose what he did have. Cersei. Dad. His kids. Jaime gritted his teeth.  _ I don’t want more innocent blood on my hands. _ Or any blood at all. But he had to. It was a necessity. He walked away, wind blasting his face.

 

“This’s an uncommonly decent thing you’re doing,” Brienne called. “But you have to know it’d backfire, don’t you? That I’d tell the source.”

 

Now, Jaime froze. “You won’t.” 

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Because I’m going to ask you not to, and to promise not to.” He turned. “Please.”

 

“I’ll protect them,” said Brienne. “I got the job at the school thanks to Catelyn Stark. She’s as much of a mother to me as I’ve ever had.” 

 

_ And you won’t risk letting her down. _

 

_ And no one shows mercy to someone who, in their minds, did not. _

 

“I’ll do what I can,” Brienne said then, and Jaime felt like a failure. 

 

* * *

 

 

“I had cravings when I was pregnant pretty much from the start,” Gilly said to her. “Have you had any?”

 

Gosh, Gilly was enthusiastic. Daenerys shifted. “Not yet, no.” But at least Gilly was smiling at her, name be damned. She couldn’t care less who Dany’s father was, and for that, Dany was grateful. She rather liked this girl. She was a mom at such a young age, and still going to school part time. 

 

Outside, snow fell. Missandei and Grey Worm played a game with Little Sam. He seemed to like them, giggling and tugging at Missandei’s curls. Ghost adored Grey Worm, demanding constant pats, whining when Grey Worm’s hand stilled. Dany liked seeing a smile splice Grey Worm’s face. 

 

“Sorry,” Jon said to Daenerys when they stepped into his bedroom for a talk. “I told them we hadn’t made a decision yet.”

 

_ We _ . She liked the sound of that. Daenerys studied the pictures of his family slung across the wall, the books stacked, the posters of mountains. “I’d never be able to hang up pictures of my family.”

 

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. A lamp glowed behind him.

 

“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? If we have this child, if we’re able to—then—they—” _ It’s a life sentence.  _

 

Jon sighed. “I know what it’s like to grow up unwanted. At least from one person. I can’t imagine what it’s like to feel the world doesn’t want you as a whole.”

 

Daenerys’s voice cracked. “It hurts.” 

 

For so long, she felt as if she wasn’t allowed to say that. She needed to be grateful she was alive at all—no, not grateful, she needed to be ashamed of it. She needed to be ashamed she lived, spend her life atoning, work her soul apologizing until it was raw and bleeding. 

 

He put his hand on her shoulder. 

 

“They baby probably won’t live,” Daenerys forced herself to say. “Well, I don’t know. Last time—”

 

“Last time?” Jon’s mouth fell open.

 

She told him then, about Khal Drogo, how he took her away from Viserys, how he was in an accident and she got sick with an infection, how the day she made the decision to turn off his life support she lost the baby, how they told her she had a misshapen uterus and would likely never be able to have children. 

 

“I lost the first girl I dated, too,” Jon said. He sat on the edge of his bed. Wind shook the windowpane, snow and ice hurtling against it.

 

Daenerys frowned. She sat next to him. 

 

“Her name was Ygritte. She was funny. Redheaded. But we didn’t live in the same place, and she—she—she just wanted to try a drug and it—she got a bad dose.” Jon closed his eyes. “I often think if I was with her that night, she wouldn’t have done that. If—”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Daenerys interrupted.  _ Both of us have been marked by loss.  _

 

Jon reached out, putting his hand on her knee. “Neither was or is it yours. Regardless of what happens with the baby.” 

 

“But I’m—”

 

“You don’t deserve to suffer,” Jon interrupted. “No matter whose daughter you are. You don’t deserve it.” He was so obviously grasping for the right phrases, but not because they were golden and looked pretty. Because he cared. Because he knew the isolation, the self-loathing. 

 

Daenerys put her hand on top of his. “ _ Neither do you _ .” Not from family. Not from anybody. “I want to give it a chance. We can see a doctor—see if it’s viable. If it is, I’d want to try. I know that would make your life—”

 

“I’ll support you,” Jon interrupted. “I meant it when I said that.”

 

Daenerys swallowed. And then she almost laughed.

 

“What?” Jon asked.

 

“Almost all our conversations are so serious.” 

 

His lips twitched, lifting into a smile. “I like you. I still do.”

 

Her heart fluttered. “Was Ygritte the only girl you’ve dated?” Daenerys asked. She tapped her chin. “Do I have competition?”

 

Jon snorted. “I almost dated a girl named Val once. She was an exchange student. It didn’t work out. In terms of—well—so I guess yes. Ygritte, and you. You?”

 

“I dated a guy named Daario once. He was nice. We broke up though because it was just never going to work long term.” Daenerys chewed her lip. “He had blue hair.”

 

Jon tugged at his curls. “Not happening.”

 

“Don’t worry. Yours is better.” Daenerys rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to miss some of my classes. I’ve already missed some, with morning sickness.”

 

Jon sighed. 

 

“My professors are great about it, though. I want to go to law school. Some day. I want to work for women’s rights. Maybe at an international level.” Would a kid disrupt those dreams? 

 

Maybe. But maybe not. She’d create a new thing in this world, truly new. 

 

“I wanted to be a park ranger,” Jon admitted. “At first. Just—a park ranger. No college needed. But now I think about nature conservation.”

 

“Are you green?”

 

“I try.”

 

She smirked. “I need tea when I wake up.”

 

“Coffee. We’re breaking up.” He winked.

 

“I never liked wine.”

 

“I don’t much like alcohol at all, actually. My brother Robb and Theon used to tease that I was so serious because I never wanted to drink.”

 

“I run a scholarship fund.”

 

“The real reason I don’t want to be a park ranger anymore is that I interned as one in high school and you spend a surprising amount of it shoveling shit.” Jon’s eyes lit up. “Practice?” 

 

Daenerys grinned. “I mean, I shovel litter boxes every day.”

 

“Not anymore,” Jon said. “Not when you’re pregnant.”

 

“Oh yeah.” She frowned. “In third grade we had to give a presentation on our favorite animals. I wrote mine on dragons. I made all the facts up. Proudest F I’ve ever had.”

 

“I had a similar project. I did wolves. So, no F.” 

 

“Show-off.” Daenerys tossed her hair. 

 

“My father told me he was proud of me this morning.”

 

“He did?” Daenerys looked up at him. “Is that new?”

 

Jon nodded.

 

“Tell me about your siblings,” Daenerys said. “All of them. Bran, and Sansa, and the others too.”  _ If my baby lives, their aunt. _

 

_ Please. _

 

_ I want you to live.  _

 

She woke to the soft rose glow of morning, she and Jon both lying fully clothed on his bed atop the quilt, snow piled in a gentle blanket outside. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope y'all are doing okay after that finale (I'm still in full 'nope' mode), and as always, if you have time, do let me know what you think!


	6. Fire and Blood

“Are you doing okay, Daenerys?” 

 

She turned to Tyrion, nodding. The nausea was still ever-present, but at least it’d formed a routine. Vomit in the middle of the night, again in the morning, and then she could eat like normal. And every time she threw up, at the very least she knew that the baby was still alive. She and Jon Facetimed every night and texted. He came to Meereen last weekend to visit her. And this weekend, she’d be driving up to get a sonogram. Her eight week sonogram. 

 

She kept hoping. Against all odds.  _ I want this baby. _

 

“You look tired,” Tyrion tried. As her advisor, he was worried. “Are you thinking of grad schools to apply to? Law—”

 

“I was thinking about taking a year off, actually,” Daenerys interrupted. “A gap year.”  _ If I get the chance.  _ She hated this, the uncertainty. She wanted to know. She wanted something, someone to go home to. A purpose if it couldn’t be a soul.

 

_ I want people to have a chance. That’s why I want to do law.  _

 

_ A chance for what, though? What is my chance?  _ She wanted arms, not books. 

 

Tyrion arched his eyebrows. “All right.” 

 

“It’s just that—I’m trying to determine what’s most important,” Daenerys said. “In my future.” She hated feeling like she was letting him down. But she had to.

 

“That’s good,” said Tyrion. “You have to make tough decisions at your age. You are one of my most capable students. You should trust yourself.”

 

“Even though I’m Aerys Targaryen’s daughter?” She’d never directly brought it up with Tyrion before. 

 

“And I’m Jaime Lannister’s brother,” said Tyrion. 

 

Daenerys stiffened. She didn’t like thinking of that. She trusted Tyrion.

 

He smiled at her, eyes sad. “We make our own paths, Daenerys.” 

 

She hoped. But it didn’t feel so easy. Her father had latched her in shackles before she was even born. 

 

_ I want to be free. _

 

“Don’t thank us,” Grey Worm interrupted when he and Missandei drove her to Jon’s town again on Friday. “We are happy to help. You are our friend.” 

 

They were choosing to help her. Not obligated. She trusted them and they trusted her, despite knowing who she was. 

 

No,  _ because _ they knew who she was. And they didn’t see her as her father, bound by blood to become a monster. 

 

Daenerys greeted Jon with a kiss. Ghost bounded over to Missandei and Grey Worm, anticipating pats, and Missandei dug into her purse to feed him some extra treats she’d picked up. Sam and Gilly were wonderful about putting them up on their couch so that they didn’t have to pay for hotel rooms. 

 

“They make me think we can do this,” Jon said to her as they waited for their appointment. “Just—them being so supportive.”

 

“I know,” Daenerys said. “Same with Missandei and Grey Worm.” She drew in her breath. “And yet I’m still afraid of letting people—like my advisors—down.” _ Tyrion Lannister.  _

 

_ Lannister. _

 

_ You didn’t want to become your father. You aren’t. I believe that. _

 

“I’m afraid of letting my family down,” Jon confessed. 

 

_ Would you be with me if there was no baby? Or is it just duty? _ She wanted to ask, but fear lodged her words in her throat, unable to break free. Babies cried all around her, and she felt an ache at the thought of holding one in her arms. They were so young, and yet she knew from talking to Jon that, like her, they were in other ways so old. 

 

And then he froze. One baby shrieked. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“My—sister-in-law.”

 

“What?” Daenerys blinked. 

 

Jon nodded. A woman in scrubs walked by. “She’s a nursing student, and I—she was doing rotations, but I didn’t—” 

 

The woman didn’t look at them. Jon shrank. Daenerys’s heart ached, but she leaned over him, tossing her hair, obscuring his face. He winced. “What if she calls us?” 

 

“I—”

 

“Miss Targaryen?” 

 

Everyone turned at the sound of her name. Daenerys winced as she rose, but the sister-in-law had left the room. Thankfully. 

 

Daenerys and Jon waited in the small room, paper crinkling under Dany when she sat on the examination table. And when the door flung open, Jon sucked in his breath, and before Daenerys took in the small, dark-haired woman standing there, she knew. 

 

_ Welp. _

 

“Talisa,” managed Jon. “Hi.”

 

“Jon,” Talisa managed. Her mouth hung open. “I—you’re—here with her?” 

 

“This is Daenerys.”

 

“Hi,” Daenerys managed, plucking a smile from where she didn’t even know. 

 

“Talisa Stark,” eked out the nurse. She held out her hand to shake Dany’s. Targaryen or not. “Jon? Is—um—”

 

“She’s my girlfriend,” Jon said, getting to his feet. His features cracked with fear. She’d know. She’d see Daenerys’s chart and—

 

Talisa’s face relaxed into a smile. She blew out her breath. “Congratulations.”

 

_ Congratulations _ . A word of joy.

 

“Talisa,” Jon said. “Robb—”

 

“It’s not my secret to tell,” Talisa promised. She turned to Daenerys. “So you’re the reason Jon smiles more, lately.”

 

_ He smiles more? _ Daenerys’s heart leaped. “Does he?” 

 

Jon’s face flushed. 

 

“You’re blushing?”

 

Jon moaned. Daenerys reached out, shoving his shoulder. 

 

“Let’s get this underway,” said Talisa. “Eight weeks, you said?”

 

“About,” Dany told her, settling back on the table. Jon hovered next to her, his hand clasping hers. “My uterus is misshapen, so—”

 

“Mm.” Talisa spread warm jelly over her belly, pressing a wand over it. A black and white image appeared on the screen, a fetus wriggling inside her even though she couldn’t feel it, not yet, because it was too small. 

 

Jon’s eyes bulged. His mouth formed an ‘o.’ 

 

_ My child. Rhaego’s younger brother, or sister _ . Alive. Daenerys’s vision blurred. 

 

“Hm.” Talisa frowned.

 

Fear stabbed at her. “What?” she blurted out at the same time as Jon, like he was terrified too. 

 

“There is nothing wrong with your uterus,” Talisa told her.

 

“What?” Daenerys blinked. “But the doctor told me—back when—”

 

“It’s not misshapen at all,” said Talisa. “Your records don’t show that, either.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Quite.” Talisa pointed to the screen, explaining. 

 

So… then why? 

 

That was a lie. 

 

A lie? How?  _ Why? Because of my father? To keep me from having more Targaryens? To hurt me, because I’m a Targaryen? _ Even though it was good news, hot tears splashed down Daenerys’s face.  _ You wanted to hurt me that badly, Dr. Dur? You didn’t even know me!  _

 

Jon cussed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Talisa told her. “But the good news is, everything looks good with your baby right now.”

 

This baby was alive. They had a chance. 

 

“Looks like you,” Jon teased.

 

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. Talisa smacked Jon’s shoulder this time, sending jelly spraying over his face. And Daenerys laughed. 

 

_ I’m not cursed.  _

 

_ And you never saw me as cursed.  _

 

* * *

 

 

School, practice, study, school practice, stody, school practice study schoolpracticestudy sch oolpract icestudy. 

 

Otherwise she’d have time to think, and Arya was scared of that, scared of the monsters creeping from that closet she’d hid in in the Baratheon house, the monster that looked and sounded exactly like her.

 

_ What did I do?  _

 

Dad seemed to realize something was wrong. At the very least he kept trying to engage her in conversation, and she was too afraid to open up. He’d turn her in, wouldn’t he? Because justice. Sansa would never forgive her, because Joffrey. Mom would never let her hear the end of it, because Bran.

 

And the worst part was that Arya now knew that Jaime Lannister was guilty, and had strong suspicions Cersei had murdered Robert, and she couldn’t prove any of it without bringing herself down with them.  _ And they’re together? Cersei and Jaime?  _ Because that had definitely sounded like flirting to her. 

 

“Want any more jewelry analysis?” Gendry asked her in mid-February when she sat by herself at lunch, huddling in the library corner, instead of joining her soccer friends like usual. Lommy and Micah were worried. 

 

“No,” Arya said. 

 

“Why’re you up here all alone?” Gendry leaned back against the table in front of her. 

 

“Because I don’t feel like listening to everyone talk about prom.” Joffrey had asked Sansa. 

 

And, if Arya was honest, she was also hiding from Brienne. The guidance counselor had been trying to engage Arya in conversation the past few weeks, and she had an awful feeling, as irrational as it was, that the woman  _ knew _ . 

 

“If that was your way of asking me, it’s not romantic.”

 

Arya wrinkled her brow. “Asking you?” 

 

“That went badly.” Gendry blew out his breath. “I’d like to go. I still don’t know many people here. And you’re the only girl who’ll talk to me.” He flashed a toothy grin. 

 

She scrunched her eyes. “Were you a ladies man at your old school?”

 

“No.”

 

She enjoyed teasing him. It was a tastier flavor than metallic guilt. “Ever had a girlfriend before?” 

 

“Three.” Gendry cleared his throat. And then he bit his lip, looking away. “Look, you seem like something’s bothering you, Arya. And I—just—I can relate to that. So.” 

 

_ He knows, too!  _ And he was still talking to her? Arya pushed her chair back, getting to her feet. “Well, my brother’s been paralyzed. I think that’s worth being bothered about.”

 

“Obviously.” Gendry frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “Though, he seems like he’s doing quite well for himself.” 

 

“Hm?” Arya peered past him. To see, in the opposite corner of the library, Bran sitting there in his wheelchair, Meera Reed leaning towards him as they poured over books. “Oh.” 

 

Meera spotted Arya. She lifted her arm in a wave. Arya winced and headed over, Gendry behind her. “How’s studying?” 

 

But what was in front of Bran and Meera wasn’t a textbook. It was a record of local marriages. Meera slammed the book shut, smiling brightly. “It’s fun.”

 

“Fun,” Bran echoed, nodding eagerly. 

 

_ Ooookay then _ . Arya arched her eyebrows. 

 

“We’re making prom plans,” Meera said. “Looking at old dresses.” She and Bran exchanged a wince. “I like vintage.” 

 

Arya’s jaw fell open. “You’re going?” 

 

Her brother smiled. 

 

_ You’re still able to live your life. You’re more free than I am in some ways. _ Arya swallowed. 

 

“Funny you should say that,” said Gendry. “I was just asking Arya to go with me. I really would like to take you to prom, if you wanted to go.” 

 

Arya linked her arm with Gendry’s. “ _ Absolutely _ .” Not really, but she would never hear the end of it if Sansa and Bran both went, and she was left at home. Normally she’d just call Jon and ask him to watch a movie with her, but Jon had been more than a little preoccupied lately.

 

Maybe he knew, too, and didn’t know how to confront her about it, didn’t know how to love her still. 

 

Gendry flushed, beaming. 

 

Arya yanked him out of the library. 

 

“And if you wanted to try to see if Joffrey’s wearing a certain ring,” Gendry said to her. “We should. At prom, he’d definitely wear it.”

 

_ It’s not Joffrey. _ But he was still trying to help her? Arya peered up at him. He smiled. “Why?”

 

“Long story. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.” 

 

Arya cocked her head. “Want to meet me after school?”

 

“Plan our tuxes and gowns?”

 

She shoved him. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” 

 

Gendry followed her home after school. Mom wasn’t home yet. Arya pulled out two creamsicles from the fridge—who cared that it was winter—and sat down at the island in the kitchen. 

 

“So why did you ask me to prom?” 

 

“Because,” said Gendry. “You’re interesting. And I want to get to know you more in a way that isn’t on the field.”

 

“So you don’t think I’m a monster.”

 

“No,” said Gendry. “I think you’re someone who did something in a panic, and I’d like to help you. Also I don’t want to be blamed.” He smirked. “I remember being blamed for something when I panicked. So I—” 

 

_ You’re that desperate to connect?  _

 

_ You don’t have to be.  _ She bit off half her creamsicle and yelped, almost dropping the ice cream from her mouth to the floor. It stung her brain. Gendry laughed.

 

“How was school?” Dad entered the kitchen. And almost instantly, he froze. His mouth hung open, gaping at Gendry. 

 

_ Huh?  _ Arya didn’t understand. “Dad, this is Gendry Waters. He’s new and will be on the soccer team this spring. Also, we’re going to prom together.” 

 

Dad still stared at Gendry, who shrank back. What the hell? Why was Dad acting like this? Did Gendry do something so awful, or—

 

“Ned Stark,” Dad finally said, clearing his throat. He held out his hand to shake Gendry’s. “My apologies. You look a lot like my late friend.”

 

_ Robert?  _ Arya frowned. 

 

Gendry’s face flamed. “Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

 

Dad nodded. “Going to prom, did you say?” 

 

“Yes.” Gendry wiped his palms on his jeans. “Don’t know many people, and Arya’s been helping me with soccer, so—”

 

“Mom’s going to be over the moon,” Arya said. “Finding me a dress and all.”

 

“Dress or tux,” Gendry said. “I don’t care what you wear.” 

 

She smiled.

 

“Did you say you’re going to  _ prom?” _ Sansa burst into the kitchen, gaping at her sister. She focused on Gendry. “Oh. Hello. We have math together, right?”

 

“Um, yeah,” Gendry said. He rose. “I should—get going. Text?”

 

“Text,” Arya confirmed with a nod. Dad watched him go, his brows creased and lips pressed together. “He asked me because he likes me,” Arya said. “Sports and all. He likes me.” She hoped. 

 

Dad smiled, but his eyes looked haunted. “I’m glad.”

 

Sansa leaned back against the counter. “You miss him. Robert.”

 

Dad drew in his breath. It sounded shaky, broken. He glanced off to the side. 

 

Arya had seldom heard her father cry. He’d always maintained composure, even when he and Mom were talking about if Cersei murdered Robert. He trusted the law. He trusted the rules. He did not break down, he did not bemoan the unfair, but tried to insert fairness into the world. An ethics professor.

 

_ But it’s not fair. _

 

_ Your friend is dead. _

 

_ And death isn’t fair.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Jon held the sonogram image in his hands.  _ That’s my child. _ His son or daughter. 

 

He wondered whether his mother or his father felt like this when they found out they were expecting him, or had they only felt dread and regret? 

 

_ I will not regret my child _ . And while he and Daenerys were still getting to know one another, he looked forward to her laughs, her passion, her spiels prompted by the news whenever they saw whatever the world’s horrible politicians were up to that day. 

 

She lived free of her family, as free as she could be. And because of her, he hoped he could, too. 

 

Talisa had kept her word, as far as Jon knew. He flopped over on his bed, pulling out his phone and dialing. His finger traced the edges of the sonogram picture. 

 

“Hey, little bro.” Robb crunched on some chips. “What’s up?” 

 

“Just calling to see how it’s going.” Ghost trotted into the room, lying down on the carpet. Jon pried himself up and off the bed, rubbing Ghost’s fluffy belly. 

 

“It’s going,” said Robb. “Work’s nice in that I don’t have homework afterwards, but also exhausting in that it’s like, all day.”

 

Jon snorted. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

 

“Sure.” Robb crunched more chips. 

 

“How did you know you were in love with Talisa?”  _ How you wanted to marry her? How you wanted to spend your life with her by your side? _

 

“Well, Jon,” Robb responded. “I think I should receive a picture immediately.” 

 

“Keep dreaming.” Jon laughed. “She is… the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. And smart, too. She has a good heart. PolySci major too.”

 

“Approve, approve, approve.” Robb said. “No, but seriously, Jon, I don’t think you  _ know _ . I think it was—I was willing to take whatever came with her by my side. Things aren’t perfect. We fight sometimes. But at the end of the day I can go home to her. She makes me a better person, and she says I do the same for her.” Robb’s voice quieted. “She gives me hope.”

 

Jon had never heard Robb talk about Talisa in this way before. And embers smoldered inside his chest, flickering into flames. He could relate. “I feel like that about Dany.” 

 

“Dany, huh?” Robb snorted. “When do I get to meet her?” 

 

“Soon,” said Jon. “I’m thinking of… inviting her to dinner. At Dad’s. Would your mother have a problem with it?”

 

“I’ll talk to her if she does. As long as Talisa and I are invited,” Robb said. “Jon, you deserve to be happy just as much as the rest of us. I’m happy for you and Dany.” 

 

_ Even if you hear the truth? About who she is, and that I knocked her up?  _ “Robb, she’s…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Which one? Jon went with the easier one. “A Targaryen.” 

 

Robb sucked in his breath. “Aerys’s daughter?”

 

“Yes.” Jon gulped. “She’s not her father. Not at all. She told me she was sorry. Right away, for what her father did.” 

 

“Dad will know that she’s a different person,” said Robb. “He will, Jon. I promise.”  

 

“Thanks.” At least Robb would support him. 

 

Jon grabbed the sonogram, studying it as he and Robb said goodbye.

 

His phone buzzed again. Bran.  _ Can we talk Jon? It’s important.  _

 

_ Are you okay? _

 

_ Yeah I’m fine! I’m going to prom with Meera Reed.  _

 

_ Awesome!  _ Jon smirked. Was everyone finding love? 

 

_ It’s really important we talk soon _ , Bran repeated.  _ In person.  _

 

_ I’m coming over next weekend, _ Jon said.  _ We can talk then.  _

 

He texted Daenerys. _ Want to meet the rest of my family?  _

 

He brushed his lips against the sonogram.  _ Your family, now, too. _

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa set extra pasta aside. She’d been volunteering to cook more just so that she could smuggle it away to help Theon. 

 

He’d been living in their basement for a few weeks now, and was, indeed, working at McDonald’s. And—

 

Well, things seemed to be at a standstill. Where did Theon go from here? He was saving up to get his own place, but how long would that be? Would she just forget about him, then?

 

He worked late tonight. Sansa snuck down at around eleven, when Theon texted that he’d slipped into the house and was in his old room. The light still glowed from under Arya’s door. 

 

“Sorry it’s cold,” she told Theon, slipping into the chilly basement room. The heat didn’t work so well in the basement, and so she’d loaded his bed up with blankets. Still warmer than staying outside, though. 

 

Theon shook his head, hunching his shoulders. “You don’t have to apologize.” He stuffed pasta into his mouth. He dug through his coat pocket. “I took this for you.”

 

“A Happy Meal toy?” Sansa snorted. It was a princess, her blond hair long and braided. “I haven’t played with toy dolls since I was ten, Theon.” She settled on his bed, kicking her legs out.

 

“I know. She just reminded me of you.”

 

_ You wanted to show that you didn’t forget everything about growing up here with us _ . Sansa swallowed, taking the small toy. The princess rested in her palm. She closed her fingers over it. “Arya’s going to prom.” 

 

Theon snorted. “That’s something I never thought I’d see.”

 

“Me neither.” Sansa blew out her breath. “She’s going with this guy Dad said looked just like Robert. He misses Robert.”

 

Theon nodded. 

 

“I sometimes wonder if I’m dating Joffrey for Dad’s sake,” said Sansa. “I know how he and Robert used to joke that they’d gotten a kick out of it, how cute it was.” Sansa closed her eyes. 

 

Theon inhaled. 

 

“I have no one I can even talk to about this. Arya would just say ‘I told you so.’”

 

“Do you like him?” A thump, like Theon was putting his plate down. 

 

Sansa leaned back on her hands. “He doesn’t seem to like me all that much.” The words came small, cracked, scared.  _ Why? Why doesn’t he like me?  _

 

_ Should I be different? Should I be prettier, smarter, anything?  _

 

_ Why do I want him to like me?  _

 

“It’s the same reason I did all of this for my father,” said Theon. 

 

She opened her eyes. “What?” 

 

Theon’s face burned red, visible even in the dim light. “I’m not drawing a—moral equivocation.” He cringed. “But it’s like—I wanted him to love me, because thinking that he loved me, that he just wanted me back, that it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t able to raise me—it got me through some shitty times. And for you, that—dream—of—”

 

_ Being a princess. _

 

True love. 

 

A knight in shining armor. 

 

_ To save me from what, even?  _

 

_ I don’t want to be lonely. I want to matter. I want to be loved.  _

 

“I understand.” 

 

“Well,” said Theon awkwardly. “You can always break up with him after prom. Get the prom you’ve always dreamed of, and then crush him.”

 

Sansa burst into laughter. “You went to prom, right?”

 

He nodded. “With Ros. We weren’t dating. Just—friends with benefits.” His face reddened again. 

 

“Have you dated a lot of girls?”

 

“Dated... no.” Theon lowered his chin. 

 

_ So… _ “How many?” she wanted to know.

 

“Dozens,” Theon whispered. 

 

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Why?” 

 

Theon shrugged. “It felt good?” He looked down at the shag rug on the floor, snorting. “This isn’t a conversation I ever thought I’d have with you.” 

 

“Joffrey and I aren’t—like that,” Sansa said. “He might want to, though. Especially since it’s prom. He mentioned it. But—”

 

“Don’t do anything you don’t feel you’re ready for,” Theon said. “Honestly, I wish I’d waited.” 

 

_ But you never expected any sort of princess, any love story _ . Life had killed that for Theon. And now he had literally nothing.

 

_ You have me.  _

 

“Your father was a good father to me,” Theon said. “I wish I’d honored that.” 

 

She nodded, because she didn’t know what else to say.  _ It’s too late? You can’t make it up?  _ Couldn’t he? 

 

What did honoring that even look like? Dating Joffrey, when she wasn’t sure she—oh hell, she didn’t like him.  _ He treats me like shit.  _

 

“He’d want you to respect yourself as much as you respect others,” Theon added. 

 

Sansa snorted. “Looks like I’m dumping Joffrey after prom.”

 

Theon held up his hand for a high five.

 

“I might step on his feet,” Sansa joked. “Break a couple toes.”

 

“Not you,” Theon countered, smiling. “You’re a good dancer.”

 

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “I’ve actually not practiced much.” 

 

“If he makes fun of you for it, Arya will punch him.”

 

Sansa managed a sad smile. “Would she?” Or had she ruined that? Could they rely on each other?

 

Theon got to his feet. He held his hand out to take hers. 

 

She laughed. “You were always a good dancer.”

 

His lips curved up. “Maybe that’s one thing I haven’t lost.”

 

She took his hand. They couldn’t turn music on down here, but they could do their best. She stumbled, but he was the first one to step on her toes. 

 

_ You haven’t lost nearly as much as you think you have, Theon _ . 

 

_ Just my father’s respect… _

 

_ But if you can’t earn it back, was it even worth having in the first place?  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I'd love to hear from you! 
> 
> Up next: shit hits the fan aka Ned's worst nightmare.


	7. Hear Me Roar!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, the finale last week never happened! Enjoy the angst. (I promise things will be better next chapter; I am giving everyone a happy ending they just gotta earn it)
> 
> Brief warning for a short, nongraphic discussion of show-canon-compliant sexual assault in Arya and Gendry's section.

“I really need to talk to Jon,” Bran insisted. 

 

“He’s bringing that new girlfriend of his for dinner,” Sansa pointed out, adjusting her dress. Navy satin, it set off her red hair, which rippled down her back like fire in water. “He said they’d stay the night, so you can talk to him when we get back from prom.” Jon and this mystery girl staying over meant she was going to have to figure out another plan for Theon. The basement wouldn’t be safe tonight. 

 

Okay, she had a plan. Theon just probably wouldn’t like it and it’d be awkward. _ Stay in my room, on the floor.  _ Whatever. She trusted him. 

 

Bran gritted his teeth. “It’s important, Sansa.”

 

“Well, Joffrey hired a special limo for you.” Only because Sansa had threatened him. She was going to prom with Joffrey and her siblings to ensure Bran had no difficulties getting there despite the wheelchair. “And we have a dinner reservation. We’re not waiting.” 

 

Bran heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

 

“Are you mad?” 

 

“What do you think?”

 

“What is so important?”

 

“I can’t tell you.”

 

“Then I can’t help you.” Sansa huffed. She knew as everyone did that Jon had clearly arranged the dinner for a night when the three of them would be out to not overwhelm this “Dany.” Rickon had gone for a sleepover at a friend’s as well. 

 

“My  _ brain’s _ not broken.” 

 

Sansa scowled. “You’re not broken at all.” He was her little brother. She’d held him in her arms at three years old. He was always whole. 

 

“It’d be nice if someone remembered that,” Bran grumbled.

 

She blinked. “If you want my help, tell me what’s going on.”

 

She knew his answer before he said it. “I really can’t.” 

 

_ Fine _ . “Well, it’d be nice if you didn’t treat me like I was broken either,” Sansa snapped. And then shame crushed her chest. That wasn’t fair of her. 

 

“Hey,” said Arya, appearing in a strapless emerald dress with a full skirt. She tugged it up over her chest and winced. “It’s so low-cut.” 

 

“I can help with your hair, if you want,” Sansa offered. 

 

Arya froze, looking up at her. 

 

_ Is it really so strange I’d be nice to you? _

 

“Yeah,” Arya said, nodding. “Okay. Thanks, Sansa.” 

 

She liked this, being able to help her sister. Bran continued to grumble. 

 

Joffrey arrived first, tux pressed neatly, hair gelled. Gendry Waters arrived at the same time as Meera Reed, who wore a floral dress and had her curls woven with flowers. Bran brightened considerably. Dad headed for Gendry right away, shaking his hand, watching him with a somewhat thunderstruck, somewhat haunted look. Arya beamed up at Gendry, who laughed.

 

_ He does sound like Robert when he laughs _ . 

 

“You look so grown up,” Mom told Sansa. “So beautiful.”

 

_ Thank you.  _ Sansa felt grown up, too, when she helped Arya with her hair, but not when Bran wouldn’t talk to her. _ I don’t know what it means. If helping people alone is grown up, then I’ve been grown up since I was born. _

 

A man on her arm? Joffrey gave her a corsage of red roses, and yet his lips curled when he saw Bran. 

 

_ Broken. _

 

You’re  _ broken, Joffrey.  _

 

_ Why didn’t I break up with you already?  _

 

“Yes,” Sansa said. “Us.” They had hired a limo to take care of it. 

 

Jon arrived, telling them that they looked fantastic. He looked nervous, waiting for his girlfriend. Sansa looked forward to meeting her in the morning, or if Jon and the girl were still awake, later on.  

 

They went to a fancy, expensive dinner. Joffrey ordered wine. Arya and Gendry tried beer. Meera and Bran looked at them like they were drinking blood for underage drinking, and they kept whispering. 

 

Joffrey groaned about the music, about the crepe paper decorations, about Gendry and how he looked like he’d found his tux in a second hand store and was that a path on his elbow?  _ Can’t you enjoy anything? _

 

She danced with him, but she felt nothing at all. No, that wasn’t true. She felt ice and fire, ice for what used to be a dream of hers, a dream that reality was burning into—well, not ash, since it never had any substance in the first place. 

 

“Your sister looks ridiculous trying to dance,” Joffrey said. 

 

“She looks like she’s having fun, at least,” Sansa retorted. Arya’s face was split with a grin Sansa hadn’t seen in a long time. Gendry rolled his eyes, but the way he looked at his sister— _ I might approve of you. I just might, Gendry Waters.  _

 

“Wanna leave?” Joffrey halted in the middle of the dance floor. “We could go elsewhere.” His eyes glittered. 

 

“If you’re thinking a hotel,” said Sansa, the music still pounding around them. “Dream on.” 

 

Joffrey narrowed his eyes. “You’re being awfully rude.”

 

Sansa swallowed.  _ I am. I’ve been rude all night. _

 

_ Because I wanted to make everyone happy.  _

 

_ It’s not making me happy.  _

 

She wanted to be happy. She did. “You’ve been rude about Bran and Arya from the start.” 

 

“What’s your problem anyways?” Joffrey demanded. “I’m the one who bought you a corsage when my mom thinks I should dump you because you’re clearly only in this for the—”

 

_ For what? For the romance? For the hope? For myself? _

 

“Your siblings are just embarrassing themselves. I thought you were different.” 

 

_ I’m different. I’m not. I am, but I’m still a Stark.  _ Her hand rose. It struck. Sansa slapped him.

 

“Oof!” Joffrey stumbled back, clutching his cheek. 

 

Drum beats echoed. People stopped to stare. Jeyne Poole. Tyene Sand. Mr. Baelish, who looked more annoying than Joffrey. 

 

“You stay the fuck away from my sister,” interrupted a voice. Arya’s voice. And next to her was Gendry, and behind her was their entire soccer team.  _ They love you.  _

 

“Thanks,” Sansa managed, glaring at Joffrey. “I’m going home. And we’re done, Joffrey.” 

 

“We’ll go with you,” Arya said. 

 

“No,” said Sansa, turning. “Have fun, Arya.”  _ You were smiling.  _ And Sansa had somewhere else to go. 

 

It didn’t even have that much to do with Joffrey. She was just…  _ I don’t want to be your girlfriend, or your first. You’re just a lesson for me.  _

 

“Sansa!” Arya chased after her. “Bran’s going to worry. I—”

 

“I just want some time alone,” Sansa interrupted. A lump choked her. She managed a wobbling smile.

 

She didn’t have more than a scarf, and she couldn’t take the limo back since they’d told the driver to pick them up around eleven. Sansa craned her neck back, studying the stars glittering in the sky. The moon glowed, full and bright. She fumbled to pull her phone from her black velvet clutch. She should call an uber.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

Sansa blinked. A little person stared up at her. She’d never seen him before in her life. “Just going home early. Broke up with my date.” 

 

“Mm.” The man arched his brows, and that was when Sansa focused on the man behind him. 

 

Jaime Lannister.

 

_ Fuck! _

 

Sansa’s face bloomed red. “How are you?” 

 

“Broke up with Joffrey, did you?” asked the little man. “I’m Tyrion Lannister. I have to say, my nephew, from what I remember anyways, probably deserved to get stranded at prom.”

 

Her mouth fell open. Her gaze darted to Jaime, who said nothing. 

 

“Let us give you a ride,” said Tyrion. “I know your father.” 

 

“What are you doing here?” Sansa felt suspicious. The breeze blew, cold and damp. 

 

“Long story,” said Tyrion, exchanging a glance with Jaime. 

 

“I don’t want you to drive me home,” Sansa said. “Take me to the McDonald’s on main street. Not for food. I want to meet someone there. He’ll take me home.”

 

Tyrion snorted. “Moving onto better prospects? Can’t fault you there.” 

 

Sansa hunched over in the backseat of the car. Jaime was driving, and he still said nothing. “ _ Why _ are you here?” she asked again.

 

“I came to see my nephew,” Jaime said. “And make sure he did nothing stupid.” He wouldn’t look at her. 

 

“That’d require a new brain.” She wanted to see how much she could get away with.

 

Tyrion cackled. “I like her.” He peered over his shoulder. “How’s your brother doing? Bran?”

 

Sansa bit her lip. “He’s… as well as he can be.” 

 

“People will never forget what he is,” Tyrion said. “People look down on cripples and broken things. They’re ableist. No one should forget.”

 

“They shouldn’t be that way,” Sansa said.

 

“No,” Tyrion said. “They shouldn’t be.”

 

_ I can’t protect him from the world. _

 

_ So I’ll be different.  _

 

_ The world isn’t romantic, so I’ll be romantic. The world isn’t kind, so I’ll be kinder. The world isn’t smart or brave or good to the least of these, so I will be.  _

 

“I’m sorry,” said Sansa. “For how they’ve treated you.” 

 

Jaime sucked in his breath. Tyrion smiled.

 

They dropped her off in the parking lot. She waved, ducking inside the building. In her designer heels, with her clutch and filmy black scarf around her shoulders, she felt ridiculous. Her heels clicked against the sticky floor. 

 

Theon’s eyes widened from behind the register. 

 

“Hey,” Sansa said, wrinkling her nose. The grease saturated this place. It felt like it’d smear her makeup and curl her hair just from exposure.  _ Oh well _ . 

 

“You look—gorgeous,” Theon managed. “But—”

 

“I dumped Joffrey at prom,” Sansa blurted out. “He was an ass.” 

 

“Public breakup?” Theon tried not to laugh. It failed. 

 

“Go ahead and laugh,” Sansa said. 

 

“Good for you.” He nodded at her. 

 

“I grew a spine, I guess.”

 

“Grew one?” Theon’s nose wrinkled. “I think you’ve always been pretty brave.”

 

Sansa pressed her lips together, but a smile spread across her face anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

“I have to say, good for your sister,” Gendry remarked. 

Joffrey stalked across the dance floor, cussing. Meera rolled her eyes, turning back to Bran from where they sat at the edge of the room. 

Arya swallowed. “Yeah.” She wondered why Sansa hadn’t wanted to talk to her. And what if she knew? What if Joffrey confronted her on it, and Sansa, being perfect, actually defended Arya?

_ She’s never hated me.  _

_ She’s perfect.  _

It would be much easier if she hated Arya. Her eyes stung. If she ruined Sansa’s happy ending…

“What’s the matter?” Gendry asked. 

“Nothing.” She turned away. “Just worried about my sister.” 

“Why? Do you think Joffrey knows you’re the one who pushed him?”

Arya peered up at him. The lights flashed across her face, blue and yellow like fire. “You knew?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess, Arya, everyone who thinks about it for more than two seconds probably knows. Well, everyone you’ve talked to about the ruby, that is.” Gendry walked past her, ducking into the empty school hallways lined with lockers and bathed in moonlight. 

Arya followed. She wasn’t sure where they were going, only that she didn’t want to stay in that room filled with people shrieking with laughter and dripping fun everywhere, when she’d ruined everything. “It was an accident,” she blurted out. “I was hiding, and I—panicked when he came there. I meant to get to his bedroom, look for the ring—but then I overheard a conversation. And now I guess it’s just hearsay.”

“What’d you hear?” Gendry climbed up an empty stairwell. Arya jogged after him.

“Jaime hit Bran. Not Joffrey. And Cersei and Jaime are twins, but they’re fucking.”

Gendry stopped still. Arya almost crashed into him. “Hey!” 

“You serious?” He turned, looking down at her.

“Why would I make something like that up?” she retorted. “It’s  _ incest _ .” 

“I don’t know, a vivid imagination?” He pushed open the doorway. They were the school’s third floor, by the science labs. He hopped up onto the wide windowsill. Arya pulled herself up. “I know you’re not making it up.”

“You do?”

He nodded.

“There’s nothing I can do about it, though,” Arya managed. “I—shoved Joffrey. That’s assault. He got hurt. And I can’t prove what I heard. And I’m not even sure I should want to.” Shame crushed her shoulders. 

“My mother lost her job because of me,” Gendry said. He pulled one knee up to his chest, the other dangling off the windowsill. He leaned his head against the glass. 

“Huh?” Arya frowned at him, tracing her finger along the windowpane, glass cold against her fingertip. 

“I had an affair with a woman who was a well-known customer. Or not really an affair. She put something in my drink and tied me down, and I woke up when she was stripping off my clothing.” Gendry shook his head. “Should’ve just lied about it. Instead I tried to report it, and they called me a liar, said I should be so lucky.” 

_ What?  _ “That wasn’t your fault,” Arya said, frowning. 

He shrugged. 

“Listen, Gendry,” Arya said. “She’s a bitch. I believe you.”

His lips turned up. “Thanks. No one else did, though.”

“Why do you believe me? I mean, that I didn’t intend to hurt Joffrey?”

“I didn’t know at first, but you were nice to me, and you seemed to have a good reason if so.” Gendry arched his brows. “You weren’t afraid of confronting people. Me and my mom, we left. I’m the one who backed down too, said it wasn’t true, but it still didn’t save her job, and it was true.” 

“You’re not a coward,” Arya said. “They are, for only believing what’s convenient to them.” Her hand shot out. Only when it landed somewhere warm did she realize she was clutching Gendry’s hand. 

He squeezed hers. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you going to tell them tonight?” Missandei questioned.

“About the baby? I don’t think so,” Daenerys said. “We’ll—see how it goes.” She had white roses to give them, a apology perfectly rehearsed. And yet that couldn’t soothe her flaming nerves.  _ What if they don’t like me? _

_ I’m having their grandchild. _

_ My baby’s going to live.  _ They were near the twelve week mark now. Soon. They could tell, and the risk would subside substantially. Though she wouldn’t fully be able to relax until she held the baby in her arms. 

She cried and begged to hold Rhaego in her arms. She had, but only for a few seconds. He was so tiny, and she was almost too weak to hold him. 

_ The doctor lied to me. Does she think I’m evil just because of my DNA? Why are people like this?  _ Fury pulsated through her. 

Not everyone. Jon was different. Surely his family would be, too.

“You look nice,” Missandei told her. “If they don’t love you, it’s on them, not you.”

She hoped. Daenerys straightened her black sheath dress. She’d last worn it for a funeral, but she thought it the most appropriate outfit for impressing an ethics professor and an art professor. 

_ “I’ll tell them about your family,” Jon had said, swallowing. “Before they meet you.” _

_ And she took his hand. “No. It’s my family, not yours. Let’s do it together.”  _

“Call us if you need us.” Missandei and Grey Worm were going out to dinner with Sam, Gilly, and Little Sam, who adored Grey Worm.

Daenerys knocked on the door to the Stark house. She clutched the stems of the roses. One of the thorns must not have been removed, because it pricked the pad of her hand. She winced, wiping the blood on her dress.

Jon flung the door open. His hair was combed back into a man-bun. She broke into a smile.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, and he leaned over to peck her on the lips. 

_ You’re telling them what you think of me _ . Daenerys peered past Jon. A boy she recognized from the ski lodge stood next to Talisa, and an older woman with his coloring behind them. A man with a beard and solemn face stepped forward. “Ned Stark.” 

“Daenerys,” she said, taking his hand and hoping she didn’t bleed over it. She handed the flowers to Catelyn. “Targaryen.” 

Catelyn slid her eyes to Ned.

“I know it must seem—weird. Jon and I have talked about it. On behalf of everyone in my family, I cannot apologize enough for what my father did to—yours, and to your brother.” She lowered her head.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Catelyn said. Daenerys was surprised. Wasn’t Catelyn supposed to be the unfriendly one? But when Dany looked to Ned, his face was gray. 

“Heard you’re a poly sci student too,” Robb interjected. “That was my major, but honestly, I regretted it. Should’ve stuck with literature instead.”

“Oh, I like it,” said Daenerys. “I’d like to go to law school eventually, actually.” 

“Where are you looking?” Catelyn inquired. 

Talisa and Robb chatted with Dany. They did seem to like her. Catelyn appeared uneasy, but more or less okay with her, as okay as she could be. And Ned… he still kept looking at her as if she was a ghost. And as a result, Daenerys’s stomach stayed knotted up as she tried to eat the roasted brussel sprouts and rice. Jon described his siblings going to prom. 

“Did you go to your prom?” asked Talisa.

Daenerys shook her head. “No.”

“Neither did I,” Jon admitted. “Too much of a loser.”

She snorted, casting a side glance to Ned Stark. He was still silent, staring into his glass of water like it held the mysteries of the universe. 

“Let’s play a game,” Talisa suggested with dinner ended, as if hoping to break the tension. 

“Sure,” Daenerys agreed. She rose to help clear the plates. Maybe that would get Catelyn Stark’s approval.

“Jon, later tonight, I want to talk to you,” Ned said quietly, in a voice she wasn’t intended to hear. 

But Daenerys heard it. She stiffened her shoulder, clenching her jaw. She carried the dishes to the sink. Talisa put her hand on Daenerys’s shoulder.

_ Were we stupid for thinking this could work? Are we only trying because of the baby?  _

No. She liked Jon. He—

“No,” said Jon, voice low, but not low enough, and she somehow knew he was speaking so she could hear him, for her. “Dad, please.”

“Jon—”

“Please give her a chance. She’s not her father.” Jon was pleading. For her. Speaking up, for her. “You always told me to judge people by their deeds and words, not by their histories. You’ve written entire books saying as much. Please don’t judge her based on—”

“I can’t judge her; I don’t even know her. She seems like a lovely girl, though. But, Jon—”

She gritted her teeth. Her eyes stung. 

“It’s still hard for your father, seeing his father and brother’s murderer’s daughter—” Catelyn cut in.

She wanted to scream. Let them know their words scalded her.

“Daenerys,” whispered Talisa. 

“That’s not it at all, Catelyn!” 

“Then—”

_ Fuck it!  _ She couldn’t stand there. She couldn’t leave Jon alone to argue she should be part of the family he wasn’t welcomed by everyone in

She burst back into the dining room. Her chest heaved. She stared at them. Not at Jon. Not his fault. She was stupid, thinking she could fix things between Jon and his stepmom and his dad, thinking there was even a bridge to cross, that she was the one with the balance to cross it. 

They hated her.

_ Targaryen _ .

What if their baby had silver hair and/or purple eyes?

“I’ll go now. Thanks for your  _ hospitality _ .” Her eyes stung.  _ We were stupid. _

And she was so, so sick of it. She wanted her child. And she didn’t want them to have to face this kind of—

“I’m going with you,” said Jon. 

_ Really? _ She froze.  _ You would?  _ And yet his words rippled warmth through her chest. 

“I’ll give you a ride,” cut in Robb. 

_ You’d choose me _ ? Daenerys gulped.

“Jon,” said Ned. “We have to talk. About your mother. It’s not—”

“Anything you have to say, you can say in front of Daenerys,” snapped Jon. “I love her.” 

Jon’s words struck her like lightning, sparking and shooting through her, sizzling in her fingers and feet.  _ You do?  _ He’d never said it before. 

_ I love you. I really love you. _

“This isn’t the kind of—” 

Jon moved to take her hand. Choosing her. Not bound by her father’s deeds, splashed in the blood he’d spilled. Not to Jon. To Jon, she was clean. 

_ “She’s your aunt!”  _

Silence.

Daenerys gaped at Ned. They didn’t compute.  _ She _ , as in her?  _ Your _ , as in Jon?  _ Aunt?  _

Robb scoffed. Talisa shook her head. And Jon—Jon didn’t even move. His lips curled, as if he’d just realized his father was some kind of monster. “Daenerys—”

“You’re my son, but not in blood,” Ned eked out. He curled his fists.

_ What? _

“Your mother was my sister Lyanna—”

_ What—then— _

“And your father was—Rhaegar hadn’t kidnapped her at all; they eloped, but—I thought it was best for you not to know that you were the grandson of a serial—people were seeking revenge on Daenerys and Viserys, on Rhaella—I didn’t want you to face the same kind of revenge; the doctors’ negligence is what killed Rhaella in childbirth and the Lannisters were looking for revenge—I was afraid for your life, Jon, and your mother made me promise. It was her last words. Catelyn and I hadn’t been together long; we had Robb before we fully knew each other, making a—”

_ What? _

Daenerys felt as if her mind was stuck on that question. Fathoming this—this— Her brother Rhaegar? The one everyone said was kind and good? The rapist in sheep’s clothing? That Rhaegar? Viserys always said they were lies, but he—they—

_ Jon’s father— _

_ Then— _

_ I really am your aunt—and our baby— _

_ NONONONONONONONO.  _ She looked to Jon, trying to breathe. Her breaths came in guttural gasps. 

“That's not true,” Jon croaked. “You’re not a liar. You’re—”

“Dad, what are you  _ saying?”  _ burst out Robb. “Jon’s—”

“You—” Catelyn covered her mouth. “Ned, what are you—”

“That’s not true,” Jon repeated, shaking. “It’s not.”

But he wouldn’t look at Daenerys. 

_ My nephew? _

_ No! I love—I love you. And I’ve never gotten to say it!  _

Were Targaryens a family of Oedipuses, cursed from birth to kill and commit incest without even intending to? She wanted to scream, tear her hair from her scalp.  _ You—lied to—why tempt me with happiness when I can’t have it? _

_ It’s over! I’m fucking cursed! _

_ No! I won’t be!  _

_ I am not my father!  _

_ And fuck anyone, human fate universe or god, who tells me otherwise!  _

Ned couldn’t close his mouth. His face twisted in anguish. “Jon, I’m—I’m so—but it is true. Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. You are—”

Catelyn let out a cry, palms pressed to her cheeks. So Jon suffered her wrath all those years because—because why? Because Ned was terrified? Because he didn’t trust the woman he’d had a kid with? 

_ Liar! _

And Jon had suffered. Jon paid the price. Fear was a ravenous monster. 

“Congratulations,” Daenerys choked out, voice brittle. 

Ned fell silent.

“You destroyed what you tried to save. Good going.” 

Jon stiffened. 

“You aren’t righteous. You aren’t ethical. You call a decision made in  _ fear _ honorable?” Daenerys gaped at him. Fire surged from her veins, all consuming, and she needed a target, and she was fucking tired of that target being herself. Never again. “Write a book on  _ that _ .” 

“Dan—”

“You lied!” Daenerys shouted. “And you let your wife treat Jon like shit why? Because you wanted to protect his feelings, and really you just made them worse? And you lied to her, assuming she’d treat him better because you lied, when really she treated him worse? Just so you could pat yourself on the back for offloading your shame onto a child? You both suck. You’re not much better parents than my brother, and he was an asshole! You should have cared more about your son—nephew—than you did about your honor and  _ your _ pride!” The latter words were directed at Catelyn. Her chest heaved. Tears and snot streamed down her face. 

_ It’s over. _

_ I’ll never get a happy ending. _

_ Our child is from this kind of relationship? _

_ Does that mean our child doesn’t deserve to be born? Does that mean that doctor was right?  _

_ No! I want it to live! I don’t care where it comes from.  _ She’d tell them and hold them. She’d  _ love _ them. 

She already did.  _ You don’t get to write my story. _ Not her father. Not her brother, or brothers. Not these Starks. I  _ write it!  _

Daenerys turned and shoved the door open, racing out into the night. 

_ “Dany!” _ Jon bellowed. 

She kept running. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry... *ducks and hides*
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and if you have a moment to leave a comment, I would very much love to read it!


	8. We Do Not Sow

_ My father lied to me. _

 

_ She’s gone. _

 

_ Catelyn hated me for no reason?  _

 

_ She’s gone. _

 

_ Was I really worth nothing more than that pain? You wanted to keep me from being punished by society, so you let me be punished by your wife? Or were you just ashamed of Lyanna?  _

 

_ She’s gone. _

 

_ She’s my aunt.  _

 

_ I love her!  _

 

_ Daenerys!  _

 

He’d chased after her until his heel hit a slick patch of ice and he slipped, falling onto his ass. And then he couldn’t find her, and she wouldn’t answer her phone. He’d called Sam and blurted it out.

 

_ “She’s my aunt!” _

 

“What?” Sam had sputtered, and then he said he had to go. Jon guessed she’d shown up there. He wanted to go. 

 

But the baby… stress wouldn’t be good for her. And what could he even say?  _ I’m not your nephew?  _ A lie? What even was the truth, if it just hurt, tore apart all he thought he had with pulling fingers and jagged nails? 

 

Would she even still want to have the baby? He couldn’t blame her either way. Jon pulled out the sonogram image, staring at it. His eyes filled. 

 

_ I really want you. _

 

Daenerys was always so bold. He admired that about her. She saw what she wanted and she set her mind to it and she would  _ do _ it. And this—this—

 

Dad tried to talk to him, and Jon had shaken his head. He wasn’t ready.  _ I’m Aerys Targaryen’s grandson. _

 

_ I’m Rhaegar Targaryen’s son. Lyanna Stark’s. _

 

The one he’d always been taught was a rapist. Was he? Had they run away, or was it a kidnapping? Was Rhaegar murdered by Robert, or was it really self-defense? What was it? 

 

_ Dad? Did you cover up Robert’s murder of Rhaegar? Why?  _

 

_ To save me? Was he out of control then? Or—what?  _

 

He didn’t know if he could unclench his jaw enough to ask. He huddled on the basement floor in his old room, walls white and devoid of posters, of pictures. No windows in his room, either. He shivered, dampness seeping through the threadbare carpet on the floor. 

 

A knock. Jon didn’t answer.  _ Come. Go. I don’t care. I do.  _

 

He was a wreck. Couldn’t the stress just splice him apart already? And Daenerys… what must she feel? Even more hated? 

 

The door cracked open. Robb, Talisa behind him, her lips pressed together.

 

_ Cousin _ . Jon peered up at him. His eyes stung. And that’s when Robb gasped. 

 

_ Aw, shit _ . 

 

“Shit,” Robb said, staring at the sonogram image. “That’s—you and Daenerys’s?” 

 

Jon met Robb’s gaze. He nodded. 

 

Robb clutched his forehead. “What a fucking  _ mess _ .”

 

“I knew,” Talisa said quietly. “About the baby. Jon, I—babies from your sort of relationship usually turn out all right; the risks aren’t actually that high—”

 

_ She won’t want me anymore. _ He opened his mouth to say it and found he couldn’t. The mere thought of the words tasted rancid, like garbage. He shook his head. 

 

“Bran and Arya are on their way home,” Robb said. “He already knows, Jon. Bran does. Arya doesn’t yet, and neither does Sansa. Bran said she’d be home, though. And we—we want to talk to you. Rickon’s too young; he doesn’t know and it’s up to you, but the rest of us—we want to talk to you. Bran and I do, and we know Arya and Sansa will agree.” 

 

Jon got to his feet. He wobbled. “And say what? I’m not your brother after all but that’s okay?”

 

“You  _ are _ my brother!” Robb shouted, grasping him by the shoulders, shaking him. “Listen to me, Jon. We were—you and I—raised together. I’ve thought of you as my brother from the moment I was born. Doesn’t that matter more than genetics? You are my brother! You are our father’s son!” 

 

“I’m  _ not _ , Robb!” Jon shouted back. “My entire life I’ve been Ned Stark’s son, but not Catelyn Tully’s son. And now I’m neither? I’ve been defined by that, treated like—and it was all—how am I supposed to trust his intentions?” And yet he did. Still.

 

Robb flinched. He didn’t seem to know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

 

Jon blinked.

 

“For how my mom treated you. Not because it was all for no reason, as it turns out, but because it was wrong in this first place. You shouldn’t’ve had to deal with it.” Robb lowered his head. 

 

_ But I did. I stood and I stood and I tried and I tried and it’s all crumbling to dust anyways. _ He just wanted someone to hold him, hold him together. He wanted a baby to hold in his arms, a child not planned, not convenient, but loved still.

 

_ Why wasn’t I one? Would I have been, if they lived? _

 

_ Dad, no, Not-Dad, he loved me. But he let Catelyn treat me like that. Over a lie. Just to protect the dead? Do I matter less than a corpse?  _

 

Jon gulped. He wanted to punch something, shatter something. He clenched his fist. 

 

Daenerys’s call-out echoed in his mind. She’d told Catelyn off, Dad too. She believed.  _ I matter to you. _

 

Had she left because of him, or because of her? His family? 

 

His cheeks felt wet. Jon brushed the teardrops with his fingertips. He looked to Robb. 

 

Robb wrapped him in a hug, and he caved, hugging him back. Robb’s chest heaved, but he didn’t let Jon go for a solid minute.

 

“Come on,” Robb said, finally pulling back. “Arya texted that Sansa’s already home and she and Bran will be back soon. We should talk to them about everything.”

 

“ _ Sansa _ came home from prom first?” Jon questioned, sniffling. “Is she dying?” 

 

Robb shrugged. 

 

“Why should I be there?”

 

“Because,” Robb said. “They’ll take your side.”

 

_ What does that even mean? _ Jon gulped, but he nodded. Talisa followed them up the stairs. Robb pushed Sansa’s door open. And froze. 

 

Sansa sat on her bed, still in full prom makeup. She dragged a hairbrush through her hair and was draped in her pajamas, and she was laughing. 

 

And someone sat on the other side of her bed, both of them splitting what looked like an order of greasy fast-food fries. 

 

“Oh no,” said Sansa, staring at Robb, Talisa, and Jon.

 

Robb lunged. Talisa yelped, trying to catch Robb, but she couldn’t. He grabbed Theon by the throat. “The fuck are you doing? Trying to worm your way back into—”

 

Sansa smacked Robb on his back. “Let go of him!” 

 

“It’s not that at all!” protested Theon. “I—” His gaze caught Jon’s, and then he lowered it. Sansa and Talisa managed to pry Robb away from Theon. 

 

And then Sansa stood in front of him, like she was protecting Theon. “I broke up with Joffrey. Theon got me home safely. He’s my friend, okay, Robb? Jon? Got it?” 

 

Robb grimaced. Theon hunched his shoulders. “You don’t have to do this, Sansa.”

 

“I want to.” Her eyes flashed. “Robb, he’s helped me a lot, okay? You can’t hurt him.”

 

“Robb,” Theon managed from behind Sansa. “Jon. Talisa. I owe you an apology. I owe your parents an apology, and your other siblings as well. I did something wrong, I betrayed your trust, and I did it to try to win the love of someone who never—when your father did. He was good to me. He didn’t deserve this. And I’m sorry. There’s not much more I can say besides that.” He swallowed, skin gray. “Oh, Sansa didn’t do anything wrong. I came to—apologize and she caught me, and then she tried to help me. I know I didn’t deserve it, but she did anyways.”

 

“Help you?” Robb questioned.

 

Theon lifted his head. “I’ve been living—on the streets. Sansa helped me clean up, get a job. I’ve been staying in your basement the past month.”

 

Sansa clutched her wrists, nervous but defiant. Jon’s heart pounded. He and Theon had never gotten along. And yet, the way Theon looked as if he clearly didn’t belong there…  _ please _ .

 

Robb massaged his temples. “You what?” 

 

“What you said to me earlier,” Jon said to Robb. “About being brothers. Theon—” He’d joined then when they were already in middle school, so it wasn’t the same, but it didn’t have to be. “Those years matter.” 

 

Robb swallowed. 

 

“Theon helped me, too,” Sansa said. “I  _ broke up _ with Joffrey.” 

 

“Thank God,” said Jon. Sansa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, positively giddy.  _ Wow _ . She looked like Daenerys had that first day together, when she painted a beard of foam from the hot tub onto his face. 

 

_ There’s something about seeing someone else do better that causes ripples. A butterfly effect. _

 

“I don’t hate you, Theon,” Jon managed. “I don’t think my father does either.” 

 

Theon hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know how to apologize to him.”

 

_ I’m his nephew.  _

 

_ But he’s the only father I know. Does it matter? _

 

Dad has no legs to stand on. Not when it came to judging Theon. “He’d probably tell you to just—say it.” 

 

Sansa nodded. 

 

_ Just say it. Just say it. How do I say it _ ? Now or never. Band-aid. One, two, three, no, gauze first, now. “I don’t know how to tell him I knocked up my aunt,” Jon muttered. 

 

_ “Wait, what?”  _

 

“Arya’s here,” announced Talisa as Robb groaned. “Bran, too. Let’s regroup in Bran’s room.”

 

“Aunt?  _ Lysa? _ What aunt?” Sansa cried. 

 

“No, not Lysa! Ew!” said Jon. “I’m—I’ll tell you in two seconds, Sansa, it’s not like that.” He wanted to cry.  _ I love her.  _

 

He looked at Sansa, clutching Theon’s elbow, and Robb, staring after Talisa.  _ She should be here, too. _

 

_ Family. _

 

“Theon, you come too,” Jon said quietly.  _ Brother or brother-in-law. You’re family. _

 

“Theon?” shrieked Arya when she appeared. Dragging that prom date of hers. Gendry.  _ Oh, fuck.  _

 

“Arya, this is family only,” Robb warned her.

 

“Tell that to Bran.” Arya stuck out her lip. “And I need to talk to you. With Gendry. After this is over. It’s important.”

 

_ Oh, Christ. _ “Please don’t be pregnant,” Jon requested.

 

“Ew!” Arya’s mouth fell open. Gendry turned crimson. 

 

Meera Reed pushed Bran into the room. “Meera stays,” Bran declared.

 

A nightmare. This was a nightmare.

 

Oh, what the fuck? His father was what, ashamed that he was a Targaryen? Like Daenerys had to pretend she was to atone?

 

_ You don’t have to pretend. _

 

_ I won’t be ashamed! _

 

Jon straightened. 

 

“Dad told you,” said Bran. “Didn’t he?” 

 

Jon blinked. “How did you know?”

 

“Told what?” demanded Sansa, clutching her hair. “I want answers and I want them now.” She and Theon sat on the floor. Meera stood behind Bran, and Robb, Talisa, and Jon sat on the bed. Arya sprawled on the carpet, holding Gendry’s hand. Poor Gendry looked like he was in way over his head. 

 

“I’m not Dad’s son,” Jon managed. “I’m Rhaegar Targaryen’s. And Lyanna Stark’s. I’m your cousin. And—and—the girl I’ve been dating is pregnant. Her name is Daenerys Targaryen. So that means—she’s my aunt.” 

 

“She’s pregnant?” asked Bran.

 

“She’s your aunt?” asked Arya.

 

“Holy hell,” said Gendry.

 

Meera gaped. 

 

“Meera and I found out,” Bran said. “A few weeks ago, Jon, about Rhaegar and Lyanna. They were in a record of marriages. And I saw you and Daenerys on the mountain—I knew she looked like a Targaryen, but I wanted to check and see—I didn’t know—” He drew in his breath.

 

“Okay, great,” said Robb, moaning. “Let’s get this straight. Jon got his aunt pregnant, Sansa’s been hiding Theon in our basement, Bran knew Jon was falling for his aunt, and—Arya? You wanna contribute anything or—”

 

“I pushed Joffrey because I broke into his house to prove one of the Lannisters hurt Bran,” Arya whispered.

 

“Fantastic,” Robb said sarcastically. 

 

“You did?” Sansa glared at Arya.

 

“I’m sorry,” Arya repeated. “I didn’t mean to hurt him—-I’m—too scared to tell Dad.” She wrung her hands.

 

“Join the club,” Jon said, nodding at Theon. 

 

“Jaime did it,” Arya said. “I heard them. And Cersei and Jaime are having an affair.”

 

“It seems likely Cersei and Robert’s kids are Jaime’s,” Bran said carefully.

 

“Why is everything incest?” cried out Robb. 

 

“And they’re  _ fine _ ,” said Talisa, looking to Jon. “Well, Joffrey sounds like he’s a bitch. But Tommen and Myrcella have been lovely kids in all my interactions with them. They’re not like their parents, and neither is Daenerys.” 

 

“She loved him,” said Bran. “She really did, Jon. And—she knew who his father was, and she wasn’t scared. She eloped with him. She had you. She wanted you, obviously. And he loved her, loved her enough to marry her. I don’t think Lyanna would fall for someone who didn’t love her; you’ve heard Dad talk about her, Uncle Benjen too. She was like Arya. She didn’t let his birth, his blood, change what she thought of him.”

 

Hope. It was there, bright and tantalizing. He wanted to reach for it, but what if, once he closed his fist around it, it exploded and send shards of glass shredding his hand? “They weren’t related,” Jon managed. 

 

“It’s not something I’d encourage,” said Robb slowly. “But—you didn’t know. You weren’t raised together. There’s no power dynamic.”

 

“Just because you wouldn’t encourage it,” said Talisa. “Does that mean it’s something so awful that it has to be undone?” 

 

_ If it explodes and I lose my hand, I’ll still have grasped it. _

 

Wasn’t that what Daenerys did, when she chose to have their baby despite losing Rhaego? 

 

Named for his father. 

 

Jon swallowed. Was there a right answer, or a wrong one, or was there just whichever choice he would rather live with?

 

“What even makes a relation?” asked Sansa. “Is she more your family than us?”

 

“I love her,” Jon admitted.

 

“Then go,” said Bran. 

 

“I don’t have a car,” Jon pointed out. “She’s probably on her way back to her—”

 

“I’ve got a car,” Robb said. “Though, I think Talisa and I should stay here to explain things to Mom and Dad if they come asking. Though I’d prefer them not to.”

 

“I can drive. I’ve got my license,” said Sansa. “Since Jon, you look too shaken.” 

 

“I’ll go with you,” said Theon.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys curled up in the backseat of the car, grumpily buckling her seatbelt when Grey Worm refused to drive until she buckled up. Jorah had tried to call her, but she couldn’t bear to answer.

 

_ I fucked my nephew. _

 

_ And I still love him. _

 

Either way, he’d given her her child. He gave her hope. And yet, still, her heart broke. “Will you be mad if I say I want to keep it anyways?” Daenerys asked about an hour into their drive. 

 

She’d called Missandei, sobbing.  _ “I need you now.” _ And Missandei and Grey Worm made their excuses to poor Sam and Gilly, chasing her, leaving with her. 

 

_ “Can’t you work it out?” Sam had pleaded. _

 

_ “Listen, Daenerys,” Gilly had said. “Little Sam—his father is his grandfather. You understand what I mean, right? And he’s nothing but an angel. Not to me, not to Sam—Jon—” _

 

_ Daenerys shook her head. “Not now.” Jon was disgusted. She heard it in his voice.  _ Not you, too! 

 

She felt awful for having dragged Missandei and Grey Worm along with her.

 

But they  _ wanted _ to go with her. 

 

“No,” said Grey Worm.

 

“Neither of us had ideal starts,” Missandei said. “People who treat others like they matter—the world needs more of them.” 

 

“Missandei is going to spoil your child rotten,” Grey Worm warned. “She looks up toys and outfit ideas late at night. I’ve seen her.”

 

Missandei swatted his shoulder.

 

Daenerys grinned in spite of herself. And then the car skidded.

 

_ Ice! _

 

_ Shit! _

 

Grey Worm righted the vehicle only to have the car behind them screech, metal against metal. “Fuck!” Dany wasn’t even sure who shouted that. The car swerved towards the embankment, spinning. Airbags deployed with a pop. Dust filled the air. And the car stopped, the only sound their breathing.

 

“Daenerys.” Grey Worm yanked off his seatbelt, turning to her. 

 

“I’m all right,” she managed. Her neck hurt from the force, but nothing bad. 

 

“Good thing you had your seatbelt on,” Missandei tried to joke. Grey Worm and Daenerys gaped at her. And then Dany cracked, snorting.

 

Car doors slammed behind them. The other drivers. Daenerys fumbled for the door on the passenger's side. The door on the driver’s side appeared crumpled.  _ Can we even drive this?  _ Her teeth chattered. 

 

_ “Daenerys!”  _

 

_ What?  _ A hand grabbed her arm, helping her out. “You’re okay!” A face. His face. His hand, on her arm. Holding. Her. Him. 

 

“You!” cried Missandei.

 

“You’re alive!” Jon held her face, teeth chattering. “I’m so—when we—”

 

“Sorry for hitting your car,” came a droll voice. “Accident.” A girl with long red hair—Sansa?—leaned against the mashed, twisted hood of their car, a boy huddling next to her.  “Nice to meet you, Daenerys.” 

 

“What are you doing here?” Daenerys gaped. 

 

“I wasn’t going to—I wanted to  _ talk _ to you!” Jon gulped. “You—”

 

“I’m your aunt,” Daenerys said. “I’m a Targaryen. I’m a descendant of a mad murderer—”

 

“So am I, apparently! And from a dad who didn’t tell him the truth until the worst possible time!” 

 

Grey Worm approached. Missandei caught his arm as if warning him that he didn’t have to get involved just yet. 

 

Jon’s face crumpled. “I swear I didn’t know. I have—I’m—so sorry, Dany.”

 

_ Dany _ . A nickname she’d always hated because it was what Viserys called her when he wanted her to be whatever he wanted her to be. An innocent girl that she could hardly see through the smoke of her life. Her hand drifted to her stomach. 

 

And Jon cupped her hand. His words came rushed, unplanned but desperate. “When I met you, I admired you. You—you—I were so alive. You told that guy off, and you flirted with me, and you apologized even for things that you had no control over, because you knew others didn’t see it that way. You weren’t afraid to try skiing or to come over my place, kiss me—you—”

 

_ You can’t be serious!  _ “All that tells you is that I’m—”

 

“It tells me you’re passionate and bold. It tells me just how much you care.” He pressed the fingers of his free hand to her cheek. 

 

Her eyes stung.  _ Bold? _ “I’m bold because I don’t know what or whom I am—or supposed to be—”  _ I’m bold because I have to be. Because I don’t want to let my father’s ghosts crush me. I’m bold because I’m Daenerys Stormborn, and I want a fate better than the one my father and brothers had. I— _

 

“Because you’re Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen,” said Jon Snow. “And I love you. I don’t care. I wish I’d never known. But I do, and I don’t care. I want you. I want our child. I want—this to work anyways. A century or so ago it wouldn’t even be a big deal. Legally it doesn’t even matter since I’m listed as Ned’s son.”

 

She could barely breathe. “You want to live a lie?”

 

“It’s not a lie,” Jon managed. “It’s my reality. I don’t think it’s honorable to—pretend the past years of my life, the months with you—haven’t happened. Isn’t that a lie? I don’t think it’s honorable when honor outweighs love.” His lips creased. 

 

_ What would I tell our child?  _

 

_ A lie, like my father’s?  _

 

_ Or the truth, and let them deal with it, put them in counseling?  _

 

_ We’ve both lived lives of losing. Is it so wrong to love what we have?  _ Or maybe she shouldn’t think of it in those terms. 

 

Her eyes streamed.  _ You’re honest about what you want from me. _

 

_ It’s not my name. It’s not to save me or because you’re completely in awe of me. It’s just me. _

 

She pressed her lips against his. He opened her mouth with his. His hands dug through her hair. 

 

“Um, hooray,” interrupted Sansa. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but to be honest, it’s freezing, it’s night, and I’m pretty sure neither of our cars will drive, so who’s walking to the nearest city.”

 

“Shit,” said Grey Worm. 

 

“I could try to see if Sam can call a taxi for us?” Jon offered, digging in his pocket. 

 

“I could try Jorah,” said Daenerys. Her teeth chattered. “But I don’t think he has enough room in his car.”

 

“Actually,” said Sansa. “Maybe I know someone after all.”

 

* * *

 

“She broke up with Joffrey?” Cersei’s eyes glittered emerald fire. 

 

“I doubt he was all that broken up about it,” Jaime tried. He wanted Cersei to lean back against him, press her mouth to his, refuse to let him break away even to breathe, dig her nails in. He did not want to think about Sansa Stark and Tyrion’s advice. 

 

_ “Tell Ned Stark. He’s a fair man.” _

 

_ “He’s a bitch,” Jaime had responded.  _ He’d put Jaime under citizen’s arrest for killing Aerys back then. If he found out Jaime had hurt his son… 

 

_ “Not about that, about Sansa and Arya.” _

 

_ “I can’t without blowing this whole thing open!”  _ Tyrion was smart. That was why Jaime had called him for help. If he told their father about Cersei and him having an affair Dad would be pissed beyond words. More with Cersei than with Jaime, and he didn’t want that.

 

“I don’t care,” Cersei vowed. “That little bitch.” 

 

“You’re not going to do something to her, are you?”

 

Cersei gaped at him.

 

“All I’m saying,” Jaime tried. “Is that we already hurt the Starks. Maybe we have an opportunity now to break away from them and make a new—even move—”

 

“Move where?” Cersei let out a bitter laugh. “You think Father will ever let us? He has us where he wants us, and that’s where we’ll stay. Even if we refuse. There is no safe place for you and me. If he hadn’t insisted I stay married to that bastard then I wouldn’t have—”

 

Jaime gritted his teeth. “Cersei—”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re scaring me, Cersei!”

 

She shoved him away from her. “Oh, I am, am I? Then just get—get fucking out!” Tears shone in her eyes. “You’re just like—you’re—”

 

Jaime gaped. “I didn’t mean—we don’t have to escalate—”

 

“We have to,” she said, hugging her arms to her sides. “Or else we’ll lose—everything. I couldn’t bear it if they tried to take Myrcella and Tommen and Joffrey away from us, because they would, you know? They’d probably give them to fucking Yrion and he could poison them just to see me suffer!”

 

Looking at her, something broke inside Jaime. 

 

_ This isn’t you. _

 

_ No, this  _ is _ you. Just breaking. _

 

_ Cersei—I should have told Father off. I would have. Why didn’t you tell me he forced you to stay with Robert? Why wasn’t I braver, brave enough to get you away? Why did I let you suffer while we found what happiness we could with each other? Why was I so fucking selfish? _

 

He couldn’t call Tyrion. He didn’t want to hear his brother tell him to tell Ned Stark again.  _ I can’t. _

 

There was one place he could go. The woman yanked open the door, scowling when she laid eyes on him. 

 

“Brienne.” 

 

“You.”

 

“You don’t have to glare so hard; I know you hate me.”

 

“You threatened two girls I care for very much.”

 

“I didn’t.” He pushed past her, entering her house with his shields still up, the mask he used to wear when he modeled, the calm, cool, collected facade. “My sister did.”

 

It wasn’t protecting him. He was starving inside.

 

“And?” She shut the door, folding her arms. She was wearing a stained blue terrycloth robe. Cersei wouldn’t be caught dead in it. 

 

“And, Sansa dumped Joffrey at prom tonight.”

 

Brienne lifted her eyebrows. A small smile spread across her lips. 

 

“Don’t smile,” Jaime warned. “It’s dangerous. Cersei doesn’t take humiliation well.” 

 

“Why are you so afraid of her?”

 

“I’m not afraid of her.”  _ I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to stop her _ . 

 

“You’re acting like a child,” Brienne said. “If you’re so worried, go to the Starks or to the police. Grow up, Jaime Lannister.”

 

He flinched. Candles lit the room. They smelled like pumpkin spice. It irritated him, the scent grating his sinuses. 

 

“You’ve taken the law into your own hands too many times; maybe start—”

 

_ Oh, fuck. _ Jaime gritted his teeth. “Oh, Aerys. Why does everyone keep bringing that up?” 

 

_ Your daddy’s money bought you a get-out-of-jail-free card, eh? _

 

_ Good on you, wish I’d done the same! _

 

_ Couldn’t wait for justice… _

 

_ You’re not going anywhere! _

 

“You don’t think I’ve gone to prison for that?” he managed. Wind rattled the windows. “Everyone looks at me and remembers that. It’s my claim to fame. It ruined my career. I can’t get a job except working for my father now. It’s its own prison.”

 

She sighed. 

 

“Don’t pretend you understand.”

 

“If you think I don’t know what it’s like to be ridiculed, mocked, then I don’t know what to tell you.” She opened her arms as if to say,  _ see. Look at me. I wear my disgrace, a disgrace the gods afflicted me with. Ugliness.  _

 

And he wanted to say,  _ no, there is no disgrace.  _

 

“I killed Aerys,” Jaime managed. “Because he was going to kill everyone searching that building. Because I knew there was a mother and a child there, and she was giving birth to that child. I killed Aerys because he was going to kill my father, when he was looking for me, even though I was the one who called the cops in the first place. I killed Aerys because he was crazy, and all he had to do was push a few buttons and that entire building would have gone up. I knew I wasn’t a hero for doing it. I knew I’d be a sniveling rat villain for it. And I did it anyways to save people. To save my father.”

 

_ And my father ruined my life. Tyrion’s. Cersei’s. When he ruined theirs, he ruined mine. _

 

He dropped onto her overstuffed armchair, head in his hands. 

 

“Is that true?” Brienne’s breaths came measured.

 

He looked up at her. He nodded.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

 

“Why are you listening?” No one else did. Except Tyrion. 

 

_ I’m so alone. _

 

“You’re not a villain,” said Brienne, sitting down next to him. “It appears wanting to save people is a common thing for you. Now with the Stark girls.”

 

“Well, you can see why I don’t quite trust those people.” 

 

“Then who can you trust?” 

  
“Family,” he said. “No one.” He turned to her. “What would you do?” 

 

“Talk to Ned Stark,” Brienne said. “I’m guessing, considering Cersei is your family, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for believing she’s serious about harming them.” 

 

_ She killed Robert.  _ “I’m not sure she’s entirely in her right mind.” 

 

_ I knew, and I did nothing. Because I didn’t know until after the fact.  _

 

_ So I save lives sometimes, and other times… I suppose I value lives.  _

 

“Then doesn’t she need protection from herself?”

 

_ From me _ ? Jaime’s lips turned up. “I’m not a good person. Maybe not a villain, but not good.”

 

“I don’t know. What you’re describing doesn’t sound like a bad person to me, but a scared person.” Brienne looked at him. 

 

“And you know what it’s like to be afraid?”

 

“I’m always afraid. It’s part of being a woman. Especially an ugly one. So I face people anyways.”

 

_ You’re not ugly. _

 

_ But you think you are because they told you you were. And because you’re afraid of them being wrong.  _

 

_ You’re afraid to be known.  _

 

_ Me, too.  _

 

_ Do it anyways.  _ Jaime swallowed, tightening his hands into fists. “I hit Bran Stark.”

 

Brienne’s face whitened.

 

“Cersei murdered Robert, I’m sure of it. I didn’t know until after she’d done it, but no one would believe me, because I’ve been sleeping with Cersei since she married Robert. Her children are all mine. He saw us, and I panicked, and I hit him, and Cersei panics if I want to—do anything about it—and I don’t want to go to prison, I don’t want to prove everyone right, that I’m a monstrous, whiny little—” He stopped. He couldn’t continue.

 

She just stared. And then she looked down at her phone, typing a text. 

 

_ Yes, I committed incest. I’m that person _ . “I’m not a good man.”

 

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

 

Breath left him.

 

“Do you want to be?” she asked. “That’s what honor is, isn’t it? Making choices.” 

 

_ I want to be. _

 

_ I can’t be. _

 

“If you want to,” said Brienne, holding up her phone. “I think the universe is giving you the chance right now.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope this made up somewhat for the angst of last chapter? As always, I'd love to hear from you!


	9. Here We Stand

Time ticked by. Arya wrapped her arms around herself. She could hear Mom and Dad’s voice muffled from their room. Arguing. 

 

How could wanting to help have gone so wrong?

 

Talisa dozed on Bran’s bed. Robb kept searching for legal resources on his phone, and Arya couldn’t even tell which one of them he was looking to help. Meera and Bran played a game of chess. 

 

Arya glanced at Gendry, still sitting on the floor next to her. “Don’t you have to get home?”

 

Gendry shook his head. “My mom won’t care. She’s—not in a great mindset right now, anyways.” 

 

Arya swallowed. She didn’t understand. 

 

“If I couldn’t get justice,” Gendry said, biting his lip. “You should.”

 

_ I should? I deserve to? Face justice? Get justice for Bran? Why can’t I have one without the other? Why is it so hard?  _

 

_ But what is justice?  _ Shoving a boy to where his legs buckled underneath him, head cracking against the stairs, the horrible sound that reverberated in her dreams. 

 

_ But if he’d done it— _

 

He hadn’t. 

 

“Doesn’t anyone want to ask what _ I _ want?” Bran demanded, setting the chess set aside. Meera won. 

 

Arya looked at her brother. “Aren’t you mad? At what Jaime did to you?” 

 

“Yes,” Bran said. “And no. Everyone tells me I should be grateful I can still move my upper body. Everyone tells me I should be mad at whoever hit me, at whatever. I don’t care. I just want to be able to  _ live!”  _

 

Arya gaped. 

 

“Everyone sends me stories of people suffering, to inspire me,” Bran said, chest heaving. “But I’m tired of it. I don’t want people to suffer. That’s the story of the world, but I don’t want it. I want to—create a new story. Where I can’t walk and yes it’s suffering, but I can smile too, where I’m paralyzed, but I’m Brandon Stark, where I can learn and live and tell stories and help people still. I want to be part of the world; I don’t want to  _ be _ your world, or Mom’s, or Sansa’s, or anyone’s. I don’t want you all putting so much effort in trying to get justice for me without asking me what I want.” 

 

Tears beaded in Arya’s eyes. She was not a girl who cried very much. She tucked her tears away and forged them into anger, into determination, into her soccer and her schoolwork. But now, they burned. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t want you to suffer, either,” Bran whispered. “You don’t deserve it, Arya.” 

 

“Why not?” Arya demanded, frowning.

 

“I told him about my brother,” Meera said, finally speaking. 

 

Arya turned her gaze to her brother’s study buddy. Or more than that? 

 

“Jojen’s been in a severe depression,” Meera said. “He—was never very cheerful. He tried to—hurt himself last year. He’s recovering, but it’s slow. I can’t save him. I hate that I can’t save him. Talking with Bran—it’s like I can talk to him in a way I can’t with my brother, understand a little what my brother feels. And he—”

 

“She helps me understand what you feel,” Bran supplied.

 

“Yes, that.” Meera brushed a stray dark curl from her face. Her hair bun, done up for prom, was starting to dissolve. She shifted, sitting on her hands. “My parents are very preoccupied with him. As they should be.”

 

_ But you’re looking for family _ . Arya glanced at Gendry.  _ You, too? _

 

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. 

 

“Thanks, Bran. And Meera.” 

 

_ I’ll listen. _

 

Arya got to her feet, holding her hand down to Gendry. “Come on.”

 

“Where are you going?” Robb demanded.

 

“My room.”

 

Robb opened his mouth.

 

“Not like that.” Arya stuck her tongue out. 

 

Robb still looked disgruntled. “Mature.”

 

“See, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” She pulled Gendry to his feet. Gendry still cringed as they scuttled past Robb, up the stairs. 

 

“Do you want to discuss a plan, or—”

 

“Maybe,” Arya said. “Actually, I want to talk to my dad, but—” She halted, hand on her doorknob. “It’s gonna be—hard. Can you help me think of what to say?”

 

Gendry nodded. 

 

“What Bran said,” Arya said. “I can’t imagine feeling like that, but I can’t imagine he’s not being honest, either.”

 

“I don’t understand either,” Gendry admitted. “But—we’re not him.”

 

Arya nodded. Her heart pounded. She pushed the door open, letting him into her room with its haphazard soccer posters, its collection of YA fantasy lit stacked in uneven piles on the floor, her bookshelf, her desk. Blankets lay rumpled and umade on her bed.  _ Oops _ . At least there wasn’t stray underwear lying on the floor. 

 

“Nice,” Gendry said appreciatively, examining her collection of  _ Lord of the Rings _ . 

 

“In another world, I’d be Eowyn,” Arya said. Bran’s words stuck with her. “I always wanted to live a great story.”  _ Have I ruined mine before it even started? _

 

“Do you want to know why we really moved here?” Gendry ventured. “I mean, what I told you—it’s all true. But there’s more to it.”

 

Arya cocked her head. “Sure.” 

 

“My father’s Robert Baratheon,” Gendry said. “My biological father, I mean.”

 

“What the fuck? Are you serious?”

 

He nodded. “I don’t think he knew I existed, though. I think—I think my mother moved us here hoping he would help us, especially since she’d lost her job, but the day we got here, he died.”

 

_ Cersei _ . Did she know?

 

“We really have to talk to my dad,” Arya managed. 

 

He nodded. “I just don’t want to be seen as a gold-digger. Or my mom. She’s not.”

 

“I know,” Arya said.  _ You want justice _ . “I’m glad you moved here.”

 

“Well, me too.” Gendry smirked.

 

_ Oh, fuck it _ . Arya grasped his head, pulling him down. His lips met hers. She wasn’t sure whether his lips opened first or hers did, but either way, he clearly knew what he was doing, and she didn’t. But that was okay.  _ You can teach me. _

 

They wouldn’t go very far. Not today. But she was going to live. Blood thrummed through her limbs. Her mind couldn’t think about anything but what she felt, his lips warm, his mouth wet, his hands sliding up and down her waist, her fingers pressing the muscles along his back.

 

“Arya?” 

 

That voice.

 

The door, opened.

 

She pulled back.

 

Dad. And Mom.

 

“Oh God,” blurted out Arya. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Thank you,” Sansa said to Brienne. At least the woman drove a minivan, allowing the six of them all to pile inside. She didn’t expect to see Jaime Lannister, of all people, with her, though. 

 

_ You pushed Bran. _

 

Jon, Dany—she really was very pretty, and Sansa liked her hair—and Missandei sat in the very back. She, Theon, and Grey Worm sat in the middle seat. Jaime Lannister looked as if he was sucking on a lemon the entire time he was with them. And yet they couldn’t say or do anything, not until they were back. 

 

_ We have to protect Brienne. _ Though, in Sansa’s experience, Brienne was more than capable of protecting herself. Jon held Daenerys, who looked slightly nauseated. 

 

_ What do we do? _ she texted Theon.

 

Theon shook his head. He didn’t know.

 

Brienne dropped them off around three in the morning. Everyone thanked her, and Daenerys, Missandei, and Grey Worm thanked Jaime. Sansa glared at him.  _ Bastard _ .

 

“Talk to your father,” Theon whispered. “It’s the best thing we can do. If he’s already with her, he presumably isn’t trying to hurt her.” 

 

Sansa wished she could be so optimistic. Jon was texting Robb in their group chat.  _ H e l p _

 

_ Sos,  _ Sansa added. 

 

_ Bran’s going to have a “medical emergency,”  _ Robb responded.  _ I’ll let you in the back.  _

 

She had to talk to Dad  _ tonight _ . Brienne depended on it. But Dad wouldn’t be happy to know they’d snuck out, and she supposed Jon and Dany might need to rest. Being pregnant and all. And Jon just finding out his life was a lie.

 

Sansa tapped a text to Brienne.  _ Don’t trust Jaime. _ Someone squeezed her hand as they snuck around the back of the house, boots crunching the grass.  

 

Theon. She looked up at him. He gave her a reassuring smile. 

 

_ Will you go with me? To talk to Dad, even if Arya doesn’t want to yet?  _   
  


She knew he would. Even if that meant his humiliation. Even if that meant her parents told him to leave.  _ They won’t. They can’t _ . 

 

Robb cracked the door open. “Can’t believe I’m helping my siblings sneak in. Oh hi. I’m Robb.”

 

“Grey Worm.”

 

“Missandei.”

 

“Nice to see you again, Dany.”

 

The girl smiled at Robb, shaking her head. Circles hung under her eyes. She clung to Jon’s arm, though, the two of them in their own little world.

 

_ Isn’t that what I always wanted? Someone to look at me like that _ . Sansa remembered arms around her, slow dancing to music that played only in their imaginations yet somehow an identical tune, and her cheeks colored. They tiptoed across the kitchen floor. 

 

“Hey Robb,” Jon said weakly. “Sansa crashed your car.”

 

_ Ugh _ . “We hit ice.” 

 

“Mother of God,” her brother sighed. “You know what? You’re all canceled. Not one of my siblings, except Rickon, has rights.” 

 

Robb cracked the basement door open, gesturing for the crowd to head down there. Sansa squeezed Theon’s hand.  _ Good night.  _

 

“Going somewhere?” 

 

_ Dammit!  _ Sansa jumped. Missandei shrieked. Jon stepped in front of Daenerys. 

 

“No,” Robb said innocently, shoulder slumping. He stepped aside as if to say  _ the jig is up. _

 

Behind her father stood Arya and Gendry, Arya’s face bright red. 

 

“Arya!” _ You got caught?  _

 

But Sansa’s father’s face wasn’t focused on Daenerys and Jon. Instead, it focused on Theon, and on the hand that was clasping Sansa’s. 

 

Theon released her hand. He backed up.

 

_ Oh, no _ . Sansa’s heart sunk.  _ Don’t run. Please.  _ “Theon.”

 

Theon lowered his head. But he didn’t run. He clenched his fists, jaw trembling. 

 

“What is going on?” shouted Mom. “It’s three in the morning, Bran said he was really sick, Arya’s making out with a stranger upstairs, and you’re sneaking—who are you? And  _ Theon Greyjoy?”  _

 

“We’re making our own decisions, Catelyn,” Jon said. “Congratulations on raising adults.” 

 

Robb cringed. Sansa shrank. Arya nodded as if to say “yes exactly.” Gendry elbowed her. 

 

Dad opened his mouth, but he couldn’t even contradict his son. Not after what he’d done. He blanched when he focused on Daenerys.

 

_ You owe her an apology. _ Sansa’s heart ached. 

 

“Is anyone really hurt?” Dad finally asked.

 

“No,” said Robb. 

 

Dad rubbed his face. “I don’t even know who to talk to first.” 

 

“Mr. Stark,” Theon said, voice strangled. He glanced at Sansa. “I need to tell you that—I’m sorry. I’m sorry I stole from your friend, and lied about it. I’m sorry. I disregarded everything you and your family did for me because my father asked me to. I put more value on his love than I did on what you guys did for me, and I—I was wrong. And then I was cowardly and wouldn’t answer your calls because I didn’t know what to say, what I could say, because there was no good reason. Because I was— _ am _ —ashamed.” His voice cracked. “I still don’t know what to say, nothing will change anything, but—I’m really sorry—” 

 

_ Then don’t say anything at all. _

 

_ You’re human. _

 

“Sansa’s helped me the past month, or two,” said Theon. “Please don’t blame her for it. She’s just a kind person.”

 

_ Just?  _ Sansa was offended.  _ You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to save me _ . “I helped you because I care about you. And you helped me, too.”  _ You did. _

 

Theon’s shoulders shook. He was crying. Sansa stepped towards him. 

 

“Theon,” said Dad. 

 

Theon flinched at the sound of his name.

 

“It’s late,” Dad said. “You should get some rest.” 

 

Theon blinked. His mouth opened.

 

Dad put his hand on Theon’s shoulder. Mom’s face stayed severe, but her frown softened, at least a little. 

 

Theon wilted, trying and failing to stifle sobs. Dad caught him, holding him up. Sansa’s own cheeks felt wet. Daenerys watched with her eyes wide. Robb smiled. 

 

“Welcome home, Theon,” called Bran from the hallway. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Well?” Brienne asked.

 

Of course she wasn’t letting him rest. Not that she should. Jaime had seen how Sansa Stark looked at him. She knew. 

 

_ I can’t blame you.  _

 

Did that mean Cersei was right?

 

_ No _ . Killing more kids—when would it end? His stomach churned. He wanted no further part in this. 

 

“Ned’s kids are nicer than he is,” Jaime said. “And that’s Aerys’s daughter.”

 

“It was fairly obvious.”

 

“Dating Ned Stark’s son.” Jaime shook his head.

 

“Jon Snow seemed happy about it,” said Brienne. 

 

He couldn’t imagine Ned Stark being very pleased about this. Or maybe he was. Maybe he was the forgiving kind. Of course he would be. 

 

No, not in Jaime’s experience. He had no understanding of what that would be like, to have someone forgive you like that. 

 

He looked across the car towards Brienne.  _ You. Are there really more people like you? _ “Ned Stark’s not like you.” 

 

“Like me?” Brienne’s nose wrinkled. 

 

Jaime opened and closed his mouth. “He’s so convinced of his own righteousness he wouldn’t—”

 

“I thought until today that the worst rumors about you and Aerys might be true,” Brienne said. “And I’m asking your forgiveness.”

 

_ Me? _

 

_ Dispense… it?  _

 

_ Huh? _

 

“I’m sorry,” she said.

 

And what could he say?  _ There’s no need to apologize? _ Because it  _ had _ hurt.  _ And there’s no need to ask me? I’m not capable of it _ ? Did that mean he was more monster than man?

 

He’d been a model. Tywin Lannister’s son. The snake who slithered his way out of prosecution.  _ You look at me and you see a person _ . 

 

“Thank you,” he said. 

 

“Thank  _ you _ , for protecting those girls,” Brienne said. 

 

“I’m not any better than she is,” Jaime said. 

 

“I don’t know,” Brienne said. “Maybe not. But if you can do the right thing, then maybe she can. Someday.”

 

Jaime couldn’t see Cersei wanting to. But he hoped.  _ You know that I committed incest, and you’re not disgusted by me?  _ “She’ll never forgive me if I turn her in. Neither will my father.” No, his father might. But he wouldn’t forgive Cersei.

 

_ I don’t want that kind of forgiveness, because it’s not that at all. It’s self-seeking, grasping. It’s a trap. _

 

“Sorry for dragging you into this,” he added.

 

Brienne shrugged. “Like I said. The Starks are like family to me.” 

 

“If one of the Stark girls had pushed Joffrey, which to be honest we both know is likely, what would you advise her?”

 

“Tell the truth,” Brienne said. “Punishment, though—it depends. I’m not sure much good comes out of punitive suffering.”

 

Jaime pressed his lips together. 

 

“But don’t you think Bran deserves to know?” 

 

_ Yes _ . But the truth was a powerful and a neutral thing. “You and my brother,” Jaime said. “You’re both strange people. He’s hardly righteous or moral. But he’s smart. And he told me to do this. For the kids.” 

 

“But…” Brienne prompted.

 

“But, they don’t even know I’m their father. I wouldn’t take very kindly to finding out my uncle was actually my father, and that I was born of something that would turn most people’s stomachs.” 

 

“Some truths hurt,” said Brienne. “Because you fucked up. But would it really be better for them not to know and all of you to wind up in prison? Who would raise them then? Your father?”

 

He swallowed. He couldn’t imagine what his father would do to sweet Tommen and Myrcella. And Joffrey needed help. The two of them would clash, and not in a good sense. 

 

“I was raised by my father,” Brienne said. “He wasn’t quite sure what to do with a girl. Tried to teach me to be feminine, but I wasn’t much for that either. In high school I went to prom, but with a guy who’d only asked me as a joke.” She fell silent.

 

“Asshole,” Jaime said. He remembered everyone whispering behind his back these past twenty years. It was amazing how the more common his name on people’s lips, the lonelier he felt. “That sucks.” 

 

People felt like their had the right to treat others however they wanted because they were wealthier, or prettier, or hadn’t been trapped in the same circumstances. Jaime still could hardly breathe when he remembered what happened with Tysha when their father found her, found that she was poor and hadn’t even a high school degree, found that she and Tyrion had eloped at eighteen. 

 

All those fake photoshopped pictures so that he could paint himself as the victim, claim Tyrion had damaged his prospects and it was all Tysha’s fault. 

 

It wasn’t true. And it’d taken year until Jaime told Tyrion the truth, and years still before Tysha showed any interest in forgiving Tyrion.

 

_ I’ve done so much shit for him. _

 

_ Am I just fooling myself in thinking I can do something good?  _

 

She watched him, and he knew she thought elsewise. A fool? Or wise?

 

It all depended on him. His choice.

 

_ I have precious little experience making decisions for myself. _

 

“Will you drive me back there?” he asked. 

 

“It’s not even four in the morning yet.”

 

“Still.”

 

Brienne yawned, but she turned the car around. 

 

“Did you win soccer awards as a child?” he asked. 

 

Brienne smiled. “Yes.”

 

“I was good when I was younger. Got a scholarship for it.”

 

“You should look into coaching.”

 

_ I can’t _ . 

 

His phone rang. Jaime frowned.  _ Cersei _ . He ignored it. 

 

“It seems it’s a sleepless night for everyone,” Brienne remarked.

 

Jaime snorted.

 

It rang again. And again. Most likely because Jaime had never ignored her calls before. 

 

Brienne pulled to a stop. Lights still glowed upstairs in the Stark house. And then she frowned. “What’s that?”

 

“What’s what?” Jaime asked.

 

She pointed just as a shattering sound split the air, and a flash of pale yellow disappeared into the house. 

 

A sickening feeling gripped Jaime’s stomach. He answered Cersei’s fourth call. Her sobs greeted his ear. “By any chance is Joffrey—”

 

“He’s missing!” Wailed Cersei. “Our son—”

 

“Good news,” said Jaime, even though it was anything but. “I think I found him.” He hung up, levitating out of the van. Brienne raced behind him. “Joffrey!” 

 

His son had disappeared inside.  _ Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck— _ whatever he had planned, it couldn’t be good. 

 

Right when he was trying to do the right thing? Was he cursed? Jaime pounded on the door. Brienne was calling Catelyn. “Open the goddamn door!” 

 

_ Fuck _ . He couldn’t wait around. Joffrey was too—unhinged. He raced back towards the basement window, looking back to Brienne. His foot kicked the loose glass away. Blood stained a shard. His son must’ve cut himself. _ Fuck!  _ He could barely think anything else.

 

The wind blew, icy cold. Jaime hesitated, and then lowered himself through the window into a finished basement bathroom. His feet landed on the tiles. 

 

And he heard a scream. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Two more chapters, and as always, please do let me know what you think!


	10. As High As Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I wasn't able to update yesterday; I was helping my sister move.

Arya paced. She and Gendry were lingering, trying to work up the nerve to talk to her dad, who was talking to Sansa first. He might not have much ground to be angry on, though. Secrets were, apparently, something he understood.

 

She wanted to sleep instead, dream a different life, a life where she hadn’t attacked Joffrey.  _ Will you understand? _

 

A piercing scream echoed from the basement. Arya whipped about. Gendry jerked out of his doze on the couch. Meera and Bran knocked over the chess pieces from their game. Theon jumped to his feet. 

 

“The fuck?” yelled Robb from the kitchen, where he was brewing coffee. 

 

Arya raced down the stairs first, heading to the basement. Sansa’s voice shouted from upstairs. Footsteps pounded. And then someone slammed into her, knocking her back. Her leg twisted. Her palms slammed into the carpet, burning. 

 

“Stop it!” A thud. Arya jumped to her feet to see a blond boy knocking Theon in the head with a crowbar of some kind. 

 

_ “Theon! _ ” 

 

The bar swung towards her. Arya’s hand shot out, catching it. She felt her bones crack. Pain shot up her arm. But she squeezed it. She would not let go. “You little— _ fucker!”  _

 

“Bastard!” Jon and that friend of Dany’s—Grey Worm—grabbed Joffrey from behind. Joffrey swung his head back, hitting Jon in the chin. Blood dribbled from Jon’s lips. 

 

Arya wrenched the bar from Joffrey’s hand. Her own could barely hold it. Grey Worm tried to pin the brat, but he kept flailing. “You  _ bitch!  _ I know what you did!” His gaze focused on her.

 

“Fuck off!” shouted Gendry’s voice.

 

Behind Jon, Arya spotted Missandei. And Dany, crumpled on the ground. 

 

_ Fuck you!  _ Joffrey wriggled almost free, and Arya sent a punch to his throat. Joffrey gagged.

 

“Stop it!” bellowed another voice. 

 

_ Huh? _

 

Jaime Lannister jumped between her and Joffrey. He whirled to face Joffrey, grasping him, helping Grey Worm subdue him. “Stop fighting!” 

 

Jon raced back to Dany, face white. “Daenerys!” 

 

“Make another move,” Arya warned Joffrey. “I dare you.” 

 

He glared up at her. “What the fuck are you doing here?” To Jaime.

 

“After  _ you _ ,” Jaime responded. 

 

More footsteps pounded. Dad, and Mom, and Sansa. Talisa and Robb. Sansa cried out and rushed towards Theon, who wasn’t moving. 

 

“He’s breathing,” Talisa reported, crouching by Theon. Robb and Mom hightailed it over to Jon and Daenerys, who sat up weakly, assisted by Jon. She’d bitten her tongue or her lip, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

 

“What happened?” Dad shouted.

 

“Joffrey broke in here,” Jaime said. “Brienne and I saw him.”

 

Brienne? Arya spotted her coach appearing atop the stairs.  _ What?  _

 

“That bitch pushed me!” Joffrey screamed. “You—”

 

Arya flinched. Sansa was still cradling Theon in her arms. Mom was helping Dany. 

 

Dad looked at her. The crowbar felt cold against her hand. Her other hand burned, swelling. And someone else held her shoulder. Gendry. “Yes. I did.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was an accident.” 

 

Dad groaned. 

 

“Mom said—she was going to make you pay—but since that bitch broke up with me—”

 

“Don’t talk about my sister like that!” Robb shouted. 

 

“Shut up, Joffrey,” Jaime said, arms clutching Joffrey in a restraining position. 

 

“It was an accident,” Arya cried out again. “I didn’t mean to—I just—I wanted to prove that the ruby—Bran was hit by—I wanted it to be justice—” Her tears spilled over. “I didn’t mean to hurt him!” 

 

“Talk to him,” Dad said. “He’s right here.”

 

“Mr. Stark,” said Gendry, voice shocked. 

 

And then Dad’s face crumpled, and he took the bar from Arya’s hand, laying it down on the carpet. And he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest, holding her tightly, rubbing her back as if to comfort her. 

 

“I’m sorry, Joffrey,” Arya managed. 

 

“Fuck you!” 

 

“It’s okay,” Jaime said, craning his neck up, looking at Arya as he crouched on the ground, still clinging to Joffrey. 

 

_ You, of all people, don’t hate me?  _ She blinked.

 

“Ned Stark,” said Jaime. “Your daughter wasn’t wrong. The ruby was from a Lannister ring. I hit your son with my car. It wasn’t an accident. I panicked. I—” He swallowed.”It’s my fault.” 

 

_ Huh?  _ Arya gaped.  _ You’re just confessing like that? _

 

“I have more to tell you,” Jaime said. “But not—here. I’m sorry. I am, for whatever rags those words are worth.”

 

“Fucking criminal!” Joffrey ground out. 

 

“Stop it, kid.” 

 

“I called an ambulance,” called Meera Reed’s voice. Brienne nodded in approval. 

 

“Dad,” Arya managed. “You don’t—hate me—” _ I lied to you, I tried to sneak around, I hurt— _

 

“No,” Dad insisted, grasping her shoulders. He cringed when he saw her broken hand. “Arya, no—I would  _ never _ hate you.” 

 

_ What is justice?  _

 

_ Sneaking around, retribution? Or this?  _

 

She closed her eyes, breathing, counting heartbeats. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Daenerys!” 

 

The voice called to her. She sat up, struggling. Jon’s face peered over hers. The taste of fermented metal filled her mouth. She spat out blood. 

 

She’d been heading to the bathroom, still anxious about what was going on upstairs, but if Ned Stark had embraced Theon Greyjoy after what Jon had told her about him, he wouldn’t hate her, right? Incest or not.  _ I love your son. _

 

Then, something hit her, and Missandei screamed. 

 

“You’re okay,” Jon was saying, holding her. “You’re okay.” His arms shook.

 

The blow had hit her head and her shoulder. She winced. A blond brat was screaming. Arya— “Are they okay?”

 

Jon winced. “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

 

A small smile crept across her face.  _ Back here again? _ “Twenty.” Missandei dabbed the blood off Daenerys’s chin. 

 

Jon snorted.

 

“Two,” she confirmed. 

 

Catelyn Tully knelt in front of her. Daenerys blinked. Oh. The woman was taking her pulse. 

 

“Are you feeling any pain or cramps or anything?” Jon asked.

 

She shook her head and winced. “Just pain in my head and shoulder.”

 

Jon tried to speak. He couldn’t, eyes filling up. “You should get checked out.”

 

She gulped. “Yeah. Make sure the baby’s okay.”  _ I want this baby. And I want you.  _

 

If she lost the baby, would they stay together? 

 

She felt his arms holding her, and she knew.  _ Yes _ . 

 

Catelyn frowned. Jon’s lips twitched, but he nodded. “Yes. We should make sure the baby’s okay.” His voice came strong, sure. 

 

Ned Stark’s head spun around to gape at them. Jon stared back at his father, lips trembling. 

 

A few hours later, the hospital gave Daenerys an ultrasound and confirmed a mild concussion. Theon Greyjoy apparently had a more serious concussion, but he had regained consciousness. Missandei, Grey Worm, Sam, and Gilly sat with them. Jon studied the new ultrasound picture.

 

The door opened.  _ Tyrion! _

 

Daenerys’s mouth dropped. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“Was already in town and heard my brother did a thing.” Tyrion swept his arms around. “You okay?”

 

She nodded. She couldn’t talk. Someone looking after her… 

 

She almost felt like she had a family. She looked to Missandei and Grey Worm, holding a sleeping Little Sam. 

 

 _I am._ _I have one._

 

“Now I know why you want a gap year,” Tyrion said. He smiled, though. Like he was proud of her anyways. Like she was a good student anyways. “I’m also a lawyer, remember.”

 

“I’m aware,” Daenerys said. Jon stiffened.

 

“I’m trying to work things out for my brother,” said Tyrion. “And for Arya, and for all of you.”

 

“Joffrey?” Jon arched his brows.

 

“Yeah, well, I guess.” Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Listen. The cops are going to interview you, and I—”

 

“The cops are here, Tyrion Lannister,” interrupted a voice. A pretty girl with soft brown curls walked in. “Margaery Tyrell.” A dark-haired woman with skin bronze and glowing followed her. “This is my partner, Officer Arianne Martell.” 

 

Catelyn, Ned, Bran, and a girl who introduced herself as Meera Reed followed the two officers inside the room. Grey Worm, Missandei, Gilly, and Sam all rose, promising to be back later. Daenerys’s heart pounded.  _ Come back. _

 

But Tyrion and Jon were still with her. Daenerys spotted Ned Stark’s gaze drifting to the sonogram she had resting on her legs. Jon met his father’s gaze. His eyebrows twitched. His lip opened slightly. His eyes watered. But he didn’t flinch. 

 

_ Will you think I’m a whore?  _

 

“Arya?” Jon questioned.

 

“She’s okay,” Catelyn said. “Broken hand. Gendry’s with her now.” Catelyn still looked terrified, like she’d fucked up too badly to even be in this room. Which honestly, given how she treated Jon, Daenerys wasn’t sure such an assessment would be incorrect.

 

And two more people squeezed inside, shutting the door behind them. Jaime Lannister. And the one they called Brienne Tarth, the one who looked like a knight in shining armor. Dany liked her instantly. Jaime’s shoulders stayed slumped. He focused on Bran, who looked exhausted. Daenerys couldn’t even imagine what he felt.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said simply, looking at the boy. 

 

_ Just words. He’s still paralyzed.  _ Daenerys glowered at him. 

 

Bran simply nodded. There wasn’t much else to say. 

 

“I can’t ever make it up to you,” Jaime added, voice trembling. “I—” He stopped. 

 

“My husband Griff’s the prosecutor,” Arianne said. “I’ve been in contact with him.” Ned Stark frowned, as if he wanted to allege corruption, but Arianne gave him a glare that silenced him. 

 

“Here’s what I’d recommend,” Tyrion said. “Don’t press charges against Joffrey, and they won’t press charges against Arya.”

 

“Can we really trust Cersei not to?” Catelyn pointed out. Daenerys frowned.

 

“Cersei may not be the parent in charge,” said Margaery. “But I can’t give you details of that, yet.” 

 

Jaime and Tyrion exchanged a glance. Jaime’s face was gray. Daenerys wondered just what he meant. 

 

“It would involve him going free, wouldn’t it?” Ned asked, nodding to Jaime.

 

“Maybe,” said Arianne, adjusting her black leather jacket. 

 

Jaime lowered his head. “Joffrey needs—help. Tommen and Myrcella—” 

 

Daenerys watched Ned Stark. Justice? He was always just, right? She wanted justice too. Jaime had hurt a little boy. 

 

_ Is justice hurting people because you were hurt? Can there be justice without mercy?  _

 

Wasn’t that what her father wanted? To hurt those hurting him? And Jaime had killed him. But he deserved it. 

 

_ It still hurt me.  _

 

_ Is that okay? Am I allowed?  _

 

_ Isn’t justice repairing what you wounded?  _ But Bran’s spine could never be repaired. 

 

_ So, do what you can. _ Joffrey wasn’t dead yet. That’d be a job. Daenerys squeezed Jon’s hand. 

 

“Well?” asked Arianne. 

 

“We’ll take it,” Ned said. “For Arya.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Arya stared in dismay at the cast imprisoning her broken hand. 

 

Sansa winced. “At least you can still play soccer?”

 

“They’ll tell me not to.”

 

Sansa shrugged. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

 

Arya managed a small smile. Theon winced. His head was bandaged. Sansa’s heart still pounded. Exhaustion tugged at each of her limbs, at her eyelids, at her chin, and yet she couldn’t lie down just yet. She couldn’t relax. Joffrey… had attacked them. And Arya had attacked Joffrey, even if accidentally and in a panic. 

 

“Well, this has been an exciting prom night,” Gendry remarked. 

 

“My family’s a disaster,” Arya joked.

 

“You have one, though,” Gendry pointed out. He smiled. 

 

Arya swallowed. She held up her hand. “You’re not pissed at me, Sansa?”

 

“No,” Sansa said. “Honestly, I don’t really want to talk about it.” There was so much to process. “But, no I’m not mad at you. You’re my sister. I’m glad you stopped Joffrey and that he didn’t hurt you worse.” And she wasn’t going to let Arya take the fall for this. Even if she had to threaten to kick Joffrey in the balls. But she trusted Dad and Mom to figure out how to help Arya. They better. 

 

“What I’m wondering,” said Arya. “Was whether it was really you up in the mountains, Theon, or if it was Joffrey.”

 

“You hadn’t shoved him yet,” Sansa countered.

 

“Mom and Dad think Cersei murdered Robert.”

 

Sansa’s eyes bulged. “What?” 

 

“I was up there,” Theon said. “It was me, not Joffrey. Unless he was there too, which he might have been.” He sighed. 

 

Outside, hints of dawn glowed. The black faded to a gray, a few orange tinges to the air.  

 

“I never hated you, Theon,” Arya said. “None of us did.”

 

He nodded. His gaze shifted to Sansa, as if asking for help. 

 

“I can’t believe you were sneaking him in,” Arya continued. 

 

“Oh,” said Sansa. “Why didn’t you distract Dad when we were sneaking back in tonight?”

 

“Bran pretended to have a medical emergency,” Arya said. “Except Dad had just caught me and Gendry making out.”

 

“And Gendry’s still alive?” rasped Theon. Gendry’s face was bright red. 

 

“Hey!” Arya stuck her tongue out. “It’s normal. You’ve kissed lots of girls, right?” 

 

Now  _ Theon’s _ face was bright red. Sansa scowled.

 

“And you kissed Joffrey,” Arya added.

 

Sansa folded her arms across her chest. “I’m wiping that memory from my mind.” She looked to Gendry. “You are dating, right?”

 

“Um, I haven’t exactly asked, but yes?”

 

“Sure,” Arya said, looking up at him. Her phone buzzed. “Dad wants to talk to me.” 

 

“I’ll go with you,” Sansa volunteered.

 

“No,” said Arya. “That’s okay. But thank you.” She smiled, genuine, and Sansa relaxed. She didn’t mind staying with Theon. He looked small and lost sitting in the hospital room. He had no emergency contacts except his father, who apparently had hung up when the hospital called. 

 

Sansa tugged at her hair. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt. And Arya better not make me an aunt two times over.”

 

“She’s smarter than that,” Theon countered. 

 

“I know.” There was still an ache inside her. Gendry seemed to really like Arya, and Dad liked him, and she— 

 

_ I let you down, Dad.  _

 

_ But you wouldn’t have wanted me and Joffrey together _ . “Do you think my breaking up with him caused this?” Sansa wondered, pressing a strand of hair to her lips.

 

“No,” said Theon. “I mean, yes, maybe, who knows. Not us. We can’t know. Either way. He made that choice. It’s not your fault, Sansa, really. I made poor choices. You made a right choice. There’s no comparison.” 

 

Sansa swallowed.  _ What choices did you have? You were raised with so much less _ . Was choice even so black and white, or was it a muddy gray? “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

Theon nodded and then winced. “Thank you, Sansa. For all you did. Your father and your mother—should be proud of you. You’re probably the kindest person I know. I didn’t deserve your help at all, and you still helped me. That means—so much.”

 

Sansa winced.  _ Didn’t deserve…  _

 

_ Deserve _ was not how she wanted to live. That wasn’t her set of ethics. 

 

_ I’ll forge my own _ . And another idea slipped to the front of her mind, an idea grown from the weeds of tangled dreams, blooming with a dance to no music. “You know Joffrey only kissed me once. It felt like a dead fish. And yet he used to talk about going all the way despite, like, not showing much interest in anything else. I used to wonder if I was just repulsive.”

 

_ He never liked me, did he? _

 

_ Did he date me for the same reason? Did his mother want him to? Did she want him to keep an eye on me? _

 

She’d never know.

 

She slid her gaze to Theon. 

 

“He’s a fool, then,” Theon said. 

 

_ I don’t want to give up that dream. I want to love and be loved. I want someone to know me, and I want to know someone.  _

 

And she could talk to Theon more than anyone. “Thank you,” she said. 

 

“For what?”

 

“For listening,” said Sansa. “For caring.” 

 

_ What would Mom and Dad think? _

 

Who cared? “I like you.”

 

Theon blinked. “I like you, too.”

 

“No, not like that,” Sansa said. “I mean—you’ve been—I like you. Like,  _ like _ like you.” Good God she sucked at this. All her romance novels had not prepared her for this. Dammit. 

 

Theon’s mouth dropped. “Sansa—you—can’t be serious.” 

 

“I am,” she insisted, heart pounding.  _ If you’re going to reject me, just do it. _ “But you’re not obligated to like me back. You can say no.” 

 

Theon’s mouth opened and closed like a dead fish. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“What?” she asked. Her heart pounded. Her hands shook. 

 

He shook his head. “You mean it.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I trust you,” he admitted. “Sansa, I—I don’t know what your parents will think.”

 

She didn’t know, either. “What do  _ you _ think?”

 

“I think—you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, inside and out, and that’s a cliche line and I wish I had something special for you, but that’s the best I can do—I—”

 

She closed her eyes, leaning over him, planting her lips against his. She pulled back. Theon cupped the side of her beck, studying her face. And then he pulled her back down, showing her, opening his mouth slowly, running his tongue along her teeth, slow and then more and more. 

 

_ So this is why people like making out. _

 

“Oh my God,” said Robb’s voice from the doorway. “Why.”

 

Sansa pulled back and smirked. 

 

But Robb wasn’t frowning. He was smiling. Theon blinked. 

 

And behind Robb, she spotted another figure. 

 

“Asha!” Theon looked shocked. “Wh-what?—”

 

“Little brother,” said Asha Greyjoy, whom Sansa had never met. If she said anything Sansa would get Arya to punch her. “I’ve been looking for you for the past few months.”

 

Theon blinked. “But—”

 

“Dad said he didn’t know where you’d gone. He’s an asshole.” Asha pressed her lips together. “Theon, I’m sorry. I’m not—working with him anymore.” 

 

Theon swallowed. He nodded. He clutched Sansa’s hand, not quite ready to trust yet, but it seemed to fit with what Sansa knew of Balon Greyjoy. 

 

“This your girlfriend?” Asha asked. 

 

“Yes,  _ is _ she your girlfriend?” Robb asked sweetly, folding his arms.

 

“Yes,” Sansa said. “If he wants me to be.”

 

Theon nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you want to do?” Daenerys asked.

 

Jon swallowed. Everyone else was making plans, Jaime with the cops, his parents with Arya, Robb and Talisa went to bring Bran home, Sansa was staying with Theon. They’d told Grey Worm, Missandei, Sam, and Gilly to go rest. 

 

“I can give you a ride to your house,” Tyrion said. “Or apartment.” 

 

“Actually,” said Jon, glancing to Dany. “There’s another place I’d like a ride to.” 

 

Tyrion shrugged. “Sure.” 

 

Now discharged, Daenerys leaned against Jon’s shoulder as they left. The new sonogram image was in Jon’s pocket. 

 

_ Was my mom scared when she found out she was having me?  _

 

He knew Lyanna had a reputation for being as fierce as Arya, as brave as his father and as resolute in her beliefs. And she ran away with Rhaegar to have him. She felt that certain about Rhaegar, despite what his father was.  _ Had _ she known what Aerys was? 

 

_ Did she love me as much as I love you?  _

 

He’d run away with Daenerys if he had to. And Lyanna… had she run because she was afraid her family wouldn’t support her marrying Rhaegar? She was only nineteen. 

 

_ Rhaegar understood you in a way others didn’t.  _

 

Tyrion had a knowing look on his face. Daenerys asked him to pull over to buy a bouquet of roses of all different colors, a rainbow set, vibrant and alive.

 

They pulled up at the cemetery, and Daenerys held Jon’s arm as they slowly approached the right section of graves. Under an oak tree stood a pale white slab of granite.

 

LYANNA STARK

BELOVED DAUGHTER AND SISTER

 

_ And mother _ . Jon stared. He couldn’t quite move.

 

Daenerys took the flowers, laying them down in front of the stone. Under the words, blocking the staunch dates like a dramatic, colorful underline, emphasizing her name and the fact that she was loved. 

 

“Your brother’s not buried anywhere, is he?” Jon asked.

 

Daenerys shook her head. “I think he was cremated and it was—dumped.” 

 

_ My father _ . A white-haired man with purple eyes like Daenerys.

 

“You’re here, though,” Daenerys said. “And so am I. We both have his blood, so he’s here, too.”

 

Jon nodded. He pressed his hand atop the tombstone. 

 

_ I don’t know why Dad lied, Mom. The other dad _ . 

 

_ Mom, you threw it all away for love from a lover and for a child. _

 

_ I think you’d be proud of me and Daenerys.  _

 

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds. Daenerys still held onto him. He leaned his head against her shoulder. Tyrion stood back, head bowed.

 

“Jon,” came a voice.

 

Jon whirled. Dad stood there, Catelyn at his side. And in Catelyn’s arms was a bouquet of white lilies. 

 

“Were you looking for me?” Jon asked.

 

Dad shook his head. 

 

“I owe her an apology,” Catelyn said. 

 

Jon stiffened. 

 

“I can’t make it up,” Catelyn said. “It doesn’t even matter, if the only thing that changed my mind is finding out you are her son, does it?”

 

“No,” Jon said. “It doesn’t.” He avoided his father’s eyes. But it was true.

 

Daenerys tightened her grip. 

 

“I am still very sorry,” said Catelyn. 

 

Jon looked past her, to his father in deed if not in blood. “Daenerys and I are having a baby.”

 

“We heard.” 

 

“I’m twelve weeks,” Daenerys added. “I love him.” She said it like she was proud of it. 

 

“And I love her,” Jon added. She snorted. 

 

_ Are you still proud of me, Dad?  _

 

_ You let me down.   _

 

_ But I still love you.  _

 

“I am sorry,” Dad said to Daenerys. “For what happened last night.”

 

“Was it only last night?” Daenerys asked. “Or for twenty years of lies, are you sorry? I hate lies.”

 

Dad lowered his head. “There’s no excuse.”

 

_ You were afraid to be brave. I used to think you were my example, an idol I had to carve myself to turn into despite less-than-ideal material to carve with.  _

 

_ I can be... braver than you. And you’d support me, wouldn’t you?  _ “I appreciate the apology,” Jon said softly. 

 

_ I’ve made my own choices. _

 

_ And I’m proud of them _ . 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much! One chapter left!


	11. Burning Bright

Leaves, golden and scarlet and ginger, filtered down onto the ground. Winter was coming, but summer’s azure sky still shone, not faded just yet. 

 

“Are you sure you know what you want?” 

 

Chatter interrupted Jaime’s thoughts, like wind blowing through the branches. He turned, spotting Jon Snow ahead. He had friends with him—one dark-skinned and solemn, one pale and nervous—and his brother Robb. Robb’s gaze hardened when he spotted Jaime.

 

Jaime swallowed. He hadn’t planned on running into them. 

 

Margaery Tyrell and Arianne Martell had him wear a wire, talk to Cersei, get her to confess to the murder, to all of it. But he refused to let her just talk about the murder without also talking about how awful Robert and their father had been to her. 

 

_ “Choices? What choices?” _ Cersei had spat at him when she was arrested. 

 

Father had been removed from office. Arianne and Aegon were trying to get a deal for Cersei to seek mental help. And Jaime had custody of his kids. Joffrey hated therapy, but Jaime was forcing him to go as part of the deal. Myrcella and Tommen cried a lot. They didn’t fully understand at first, but Myrcella had told him recently that she loved him and was glad he was her father, and he’d cried in his room afterwards, because never did he ever think he’d hear those words.

 

He still didn’t think he deserved them.

 

Tyrion and Tysha came to visit often, trying to help with the kids when Jaime had community service to do. And Brienne came too. Despite being extremely feminine and the opposite of Brienne in many ways, Myrcella seemed to like Brienne. Tommen was more wary, but the boy was only eight and had lost both his parents. 

 

Well, one. The other, temporarily. If Cersei sought mental help, Jaime would be able to start allowing the kids to visit. 

 

“Lannister,” Robb greeted him.

 

“Stark.” Jaime nodded. “Nice day. Beautiful weather.”

 

Robb arched his brows.

 

“How’s Bran doing?” Jaime ventured. 

 

“Not bad. He’s studying so much he might be able to finish high school early,” said Robb. “Still dating Meera.” 

 

But he couldn’t walk. Because of Jaime. What could he say?  _ Glad to hear it? I’m sorry,  _ again? “Have a good day.”

 

“You too,” Robb said, before he joined Jon Snow and the others. They entered a jewelry shop. 

 

Jaime headed home, bagels and coffee in hand. Brienne sat on the stairs inside, helping Tommen with his math homework. Tyrion must have let her in. 

 

“Donuts?” asked Tommen hopefully.

 

“No, bagels.” Somewhat healthier, right? Myrcella sprawled on the couch, texting. “Who’re you talking to?” 

 

“Trystane,” Myrcella said dreamily.

 

Joffrey stormed down the stairs. “Oh great, the jailer’s back.”

 

Jaime pressed his lips together, setting the bag of bagels down. 

 

“And the ugly bitch is here too,” Joffrey added. 

 

Brienne ignored him. Jaime clenched his teeth. “Joffrey.”

 

“Jaime. Or should I call you Dad? Uncle? What even are you?”

 

“You can call me whatever you like,” Jaime said. “Ugly bitch included. But you’re not to call Brienne that ever again, or I’ll talk to your counselor, and take your phone and laptop away until you convince me you’ve really changed.”

 

Joffrey’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious!”

 

“I can be, and I am.” Jaime folded his arms. Arya had to attend counseling as well. It wasn’t exactly an unfair deal. No one skated. 

 

A slow clap echoed. Jaime turned to see Tyrion standing there, Tysha beside him. “Parenting.” 

 

Jaime rolled his eyes.  _ As long as I’m not like my dad. _

 

He thought about Daenerys Targaryen again. She was pregnant. He’d seen her during the summer, belly swelling, holding Jon Snow’s hand.  _ Do you wonder if you’ll be just like your father? You never had a mother. No, you did. She died.  _

 

_ I had a mother.  _ He hardly remembered her, but she had lived, and all he did recall was positive.

 

_ I want to be like her.  _

 

_ No _ , he thought, watching as Brienne helped Tommen smear cream cheese on a bagel.  _ I want to be like you. _

 

“You didn’t have to tell Joffrey off,” Brienne said later, once Tyrion and Tysha had taken Tommen and Myrcella (and this ‘Trystane’) to a movie and Joffrey to therapy. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

 

“But it’s not true,” Jaime responded, wiping crumbs off the table. It wasn’t. She kept coming by, helping him, without expecting a thing from it. Unless what she expected was just his company.

 

_ Me?  _

 

“Why do you come over?” he ventured, dumping the rag into the sink and rinsing his hands.

 

Brienne shrugged. “Your kids are wonderful.”

 

Jaime arched his brows. “Well, I appreciate it.” His heart thumped in a way it hadn’t in years, blood thrumming through his chest and head. _ Appreciate? Goddammit.  _ That wasn’t what he meant at all.

 

No, he did mean it. 

 

“Joffrey is what he is. I’m content with how I look.”

 

“Well, good,” Jaime said. “Because I don’t find you ugly at all.”  _ If anything, I’m the ugly one. Sleeping with my sister. Basically an accessory to murder, albeit unintentionally. Paralyzed an innocent kid. Did kill someone. _

 

But he could tell that she didn’t see him that way, and it made him want to cower and hide away from the light.

 

“You’re not disgusting,” said Brienne. “At all.”

 

_ You really mean that. _ Because if he knew one thing, it was that Brienne wasn’t a liar. And she wasn’t a fool. 

 

He nodded, a lump in his throat.  _ Thank you _ . “Brienne?”

 

“Mm?” She turned. 

 

He held her shoulder. He had to reach up for it.  _ Do you really think that? _

 

His throat tightened even more.

 

_ But I trust you. _

 

He stood on tiptoe, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his lips against hers. He was still afraid she’d pull away. But she pressed back into him, arms around him, holding him like he was something precious to her, like she couldn’t believe he wanted her.

 

_ I want you _ . 

 

It was midday, but it felt a little bit like dawn. 

 

* * *

  
“Lean your head back.” Daenerys dragged the comb through Sansa’s hair. The redheaded girl sat on the floor while Dany sat on the couch, difficult enough while so close to her due date. But Sansa had asked Daenerys for help styling her hair for her date with Theon that night. 

 

Daenerys shifted to avoid her back hurting her. She felt so bloated now, every day. But with each ultrasound, with each kick to her ribs and each night she woke up to a somersault inside of her, she knew her child was alive.

 

Sansa had started college at the same university where Ned and Catelyn worked, majoring in literature. Theon had moved in with his sister, Asha, evidently reconciling with her. He was working and putting himself through school at the same time. The Starks were helping him. 

 

Like they were helping Jon and Dany. They’d gotten an apartment themselves, though Sam and Gilly and Missandei and Grey Worm visited fairly frequently. She and Jon had both graduated, and she was taking a gap year to have their kid before applying to law schools. When she went, she and Jon would work out a childcare situation with all their friends and family.

 

All of their family.

 

She really had one now.

 

Arya charged into the house, covered in grass stains and with sweat sticking her hair to her temples. “It went well!” She’d had a practice session for a sport scholarship scouter. The man was named Sandor Clegane, and Daenerys had sent the man a video of Arya playing. 

 

Sansa gave her a thumbs up. 

 

Daenerys smiled. She’d been to a few of Arya’s games, and Arya was still practicing almost daily with Gendry, which Daenerys was quite sure was code for an excuse to fall on top of Gendry and make out with him.

 

“How’s baby?” asked Arya.

 

“Sleepy,” Daenerys answered. She poked her abdomen. The child stirred and settled back down. “Not listening.”

 

“What did you expect?” asked Sansa. “With you and Jon as parents.”

 

Daenerys snorted. “There. Hair done.”

 

Sansa pulled up a handheld mirror, examining her braided updo. She grinned. 

 

Daenerys’s back ached more. She rubbed it. She’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions the past month or so, and every time she gritted her teeth and praised God for epidurals. 

 

_ What if this isn’t a practice _ ? 

 

She wasn’t going to worry about that now. Jon had said he’d had something to do that day, and she was still two weeks out from her due date.

 

She greeted Ned when he came home, and helped Sansa pick her outfit. Daenerys wondered if Sansa would be coming home that night. She smirked to herself, still breathing through each wave of cramping pain.

 

She checked her phone every time she felt the pain.  _ This actually might be it. _

 

When she stood up and the pain stabbed her from her abdomen down to the soles of her feet, she knew. Daenerys doubled over, grasping the bed frame. She screwed up her face.

 

“Daenerys!” Sansa grabbed her shoulder. 

 

She panted. “I think—it’s time to go to the hospital.” This contraction wasn’t letting up. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “Mother _ fucker!”  _

 

“Get Mom!” Sansa ordered Arya. “Breathe, Daenerys. It’ll be fine.” Poor Sansa sounded terrified, but she still worked circles in Daenerys’s shoulders, trying to soothe her. “ _ Bran _ , call Jon!”

 

“Calm down,” Bran hollered up the stairs.

 

“You calm down!” Sansa shot back. 

 

Daenerys snorted in spite of herself. Catelyn appeared, Rickon behind her. “Breathe,” Catelyn told her. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slowly.” 

 

Daenerys tried. A wave of hot nausea surged through her. She shivered in spite of the heat. “I’m going to—”

 

Catelyn held her hair as she vomited onto the Starks’ stairs. “Let’s go.”

 

Somehow they helped Dany down the stairs and into the car. Ned, of all people, was driving. Arya had said they’d called Jon and he would meet them there. Catelyn climbed into the backseat with Daenerys, helping her breathe. 

 

“ _ How _ did you do this five times?” Daenerys rasped. Catelyn snorted. Ned was speeding. Good. It was taking all of Dany’s strength not to scream. 

 

Catelyn and Ned both took Dany’s arms when they got to the hospital. In the throes of a contraction, she tried desperately not to vomit or scream. 

 

_ “Daenerys!”  _

 

His voice. She craned her neck, looking up. Jon charged across the emergency room lobby. Ned went to talk to registration. Jon grasped her as she almost crumpled. “It hurts, it really fucking hurts.” Her fingers dug into Jon’s arm.

 

“I know,” Jon said, voice shaking. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Dany. I’m here.” 

 

“Good luck,” Catelyn called as a nurse hurried to take them back.

 

Jon looked over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

Daenerys tried to breathe with Jon’s help. At least he was with her, holding her, tears beading his eyes because he was afraid, too. Within the hour, Missandei arrived. Daenerys had asked her best friend to be in the room. 

 

And then the doctor finally, finally pulled out the longest needle Daenerys had ever seen and plunged it into her spine. Jon cringed and turned away. But after a prick of cold, relief flowed through her. 

 

“How was your guy time?” Daenerys finally asked as twilight fell across the sky, sunset’s rays glinting against the window. 

 

Jon snorted. “Good.” He held her hand.

 

“We’re gonna be parents in a few hours,” Daenerys whispered. “You and me.”

 

Jon’s lips curved.

 

“Are you nervous?”

 

Jon let out his breath. “Actually terrified.”

 

Missandei laughed. Daenerys squeezed his hand.

 

“I’m glad it’s you,” she said. 

 

Jon nodded. 

 

He made her feel like home, like she could be herself in all her faults, and he would still hold her in his arms. And she could learn from him, and the lesson wouldn’t be painful. She wasn’t punished for what she didn’t know. She’d never really been allowed to be innocent, to laugh freely, to not care that she was the daughter of a murderer.

 

_ But with you, I can. _

 

“Actually,” Jon said, drawing in his breath. “I went with Robb, Grey Worm, and Sam to—well—pick something up. I’d bought something, I mean.”

 

Missandei’s nose wrinkled. “Your timing, Jon Snow.”

 

“What?” Daenerys asked.

 

Jon hesitated.

 

“What?” she asked again. “I’m in labor here, Jon. You don’t get to not answer me.”

 

He laughed. A plastic bag appeared, crinkling. And he took a small jewelry box out from it.

 

Daenerys gaped. 

 

“Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen,” he said. “I love you. I want—to spend the rest of my life with you, and our child, and I know things are—not ideal, but with you I—I feel rooted again. Would you marry me?”

 

“You’re supposed to kneel,” Missandei hissed. 

 

Machines beeped around them. Nurses chattered outside. And Daenerys laughed at how ridiculous this situation was, with her number halfway down her body, stirrups ready, and Jon fumbling to get on his knee.

 

“You don’t need to kneel,” she said. “ _ Yes _ .”

 

Jon sighed—in relief? Was he actually worried?—and slipped a ring onto her finger. A ring made of rose gold, with what looked like rubies as well as diamonds. She bit back a guffaw. “Is that a dragon?” 

 

Jon lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps.”

 

Her childhood fantasy. Daenerys pulled him close, pressing her lips up to meet his. 

 

They dozed at various parts of the night, until early in the morning when the nurse finally told them that she was nine centimeters dilated and it was time to start pushing. Jon supporting her back, Missandei rubbing her shoulder, Daenerys felt pressure building. 

 

_ I can’t do this. _

 

“You can do this,” Jon assured her.

 

Missandei said nothing, but she squeezed Daenerys’s hand. 

 

When an infant’s wail split the air, Daenerys gasped. The doctor placed the crying baby on her chest, still matted with blood and fluid. Daenerys’s vision blurred.

 

“A girl,” Jon choked out.

 

_ A girl?  _

 

Jon’s hand cupped their daughter’s head. She already had a head of hair, black hair like Jon’s. She had ten fingers and ten toes. She had eyes that she blinked even as her mouth opened in a cry, announcing her arrival, eyes that focused on Daenerys’s face, and even though she was crying, she didn’t look at Daenerys like she was something to be afraid of. 

 

_ You just came into the world.  _

 

_ Breathing is scary. _

 

_ But you have nothing to fear from your daddy and me. _

 

Jon was crying, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t look as if he could so much as form a coherent sentence. Daenerys spotted Missandei dabbing at her eyes, too. 

 

_ You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive. _

 

An hour or so later, Daenerys had fed their daughter, and the nurse told her there were people who wanted to see her. 

 

Jon cradled their daughter as his family spilled in, Sam and Gilly, Little Sam who gaped at the tiny baby, and Grey Worm, who kissed Missandei before tearing up when he saw the baby. Arya held Gendry’s hand and Sansa was still wearing her hair up.

 

“We’ve been here all night,” Bran reported. 

 

“Sorry,” Daenerys said. She looked to Sansa. “Guess you didn’t get your date.”

 

“She still looks beautiful,” Theon said, gazing at Sansa.

 

“It is a date,” Sansa said. “Just, here.” She smiled.

 

Jon handed the baby to his father. Robb squeezed Jon’s shoulder in congratulations. Sansa was already snapping photo after photo of the baby. 

 

“Congratulations,” Catelyn said quietly.

 

Daenerys couldn’t even frown at her right now. “Thank you for your help yesterday.” 

 

“She looks like you,” Ned said to Daenerys. 

 

“Not the hair,” Daenerys countered.

 

“True.”

 

“Is that ring real?” asked Talisa, pointing.

 

Daenerys and Jon exchanged a glance. They both nodded.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t propose when she was  _ in labor,”  _ Sansa said, lip curling.

 

“It made me smile,” Dany insisted. Sansa looked doubtful. “Bridesmaids? You and Arya? Missandei’s maid of honor.”” 

 

Sansa grinned. Arya smiled. 

 

“What did you name her?” asked Arya.

 

She and Jon exchanged a glance. Jon answered. “Lyanna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!!! I might write more for Jonerys in the future, either in this AU or like, rewriting season 8 post episode 2 because let's be fucking real most high school students could write that better. But seriously, thank you all for reading and for your comments and kudos! They really encouraged me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think; I'd love to hear from you! This is my first time writing for ASOIAF/GOT despite it being one of my first fandoms.


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